The Naked Guy Upstairs
by AngryBadgerGirl
Summary: It's You've Got Mail meets Pillow Talk meets...eh, you get the picture. It's the usual ABG yuks and lemons. Playboyward v. Straightlacedella. Love/Hate/Love/Banter. RATED M COS WHY ELSE DO YOU READ FIC, HONESTLY? AH, CANON PAIRINGS
1. Chapter 1

**So this here is a new fic I've started. It's going to be humorous with a teeny bit of angst and a different kind of Edward. Keep reading.**

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**BPOV**

**I don't own Twilight, just Nakedward.**

"Damn it!" I mutter to myself for the umpteenth time.

Nothing seems to be going right today. I'm moving into my new brownstone walk-up in Cambridge to start my senior year at Harvard. I can't wait; I've been double majoring in English and Creative Writing and just want to finish up and move on to graduate school. Frankly, I've worked my ass off. Plowing through lectures, studying, writing papers—it's all I know. I am the classic library nerd; it's a fact that doesn't bother me in the slightest, frankly.

_I may not be the prettiest girl in the room, but I'm almost always the smartest. I can live with that._

"Shit!" I mutter as I stub my toe while moving furniture around.

My new place was a bit of a shambles. I had boxes and bits and pieces scattered everywhere in this small one bedroom space. I've been trying all day to get stuff organized. I finally got my laptop out from where it was buried among all my other junk.

Looking for something to do besides unpack, I decide to sit down and try to configure my internet access. All my utilities should be working, but with these old buildings you never know for sure. When I try to set up a network connection, I keep getting an error message. I think there's someone else's WiFi screwing it up.

_It must be whoever lives upstairs._

"Hey, sweetie, do you need help in here?" my mom asks as she walks toward me from the narrow hallway after organizing my bedroom.

"Thanks, I can finish the rest myself. You should get going, you don't want to miss your flight," I tell her.

"I know. I just want to help as much as I can—all that crazy mother hen stuff," she says with a laugh as she puts her arm around me. I turn into her and let her envelope me a nice warm hug because I really could use one.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, baby girl."

I set down a picture of myself with both my parents on a shelf and look at it for a moment.

"I miss him too," my mom says as she watches me sigh at the photograph in front of me.

"I'm just at the point where I'm getting mad at him, isn't that stupid? I'm mad he won't be at my graduation. Like it's his fault," I admit with a sad laugh and a shake of my head.

"Are you sure you'll be OK living alone? Don't want you to be lonely, honey, that's all," my mom explains softly as she strokes my hair.

My mom has been the one to comfort me through all that's happened in the last year, when really she needed it herself. She and my father had one of those 'star crossed' romances—the kind you read about in fairy tales. She was the bohemian and he was always on the straight and narrow. Two more opposite people couldn't have paired together, yet, my dad managed to ask her out to their college spring formal, no doubt on impulse, and somehow she said yes.

Well, they had one thing in common because nine months later I was born.

They struggled as a young married couple with a baby but they pulled through it—staying madly in love in the process. My mom became an art teacher and my dad, the chief of police. Their story would have had a happily ever after had my dad not passed away from stomach cancer six months ago. By the time we figured out what was wrong, it was too late. My father died five weeks after his diagnosis, on his 44th birthday.

"I'll be fine, really," I reassure my mom as I snap myself out of my sad memories. "Promise, if I really don't like it, I can always give one month's notice then move in with Rose and Alice. They've got an extra room and keep asking me to move in. But I want my own place—to can work on getting my thesis done and studying for grad school entrance exams," I explain. I really do need my own space to think, to piece myself back together, to just _be_.

"You've always known your own mind, ever since you were a little girl," my mom says as she pats my arm. "Alright, let me at least get your bed made before I leave, how's that?"

"Thank you, mummy," I say in my overly-saccharin voice that I use with her when I'm kidding around. "Gotta call the cable people, I still can't get my laptop online. Hopefully I can find my cell in here."

A while later, I finally manage to usher my mom into a cab to the airport. I promise to call at least every few days to let her know how I am. After one last tight hug, we kiss goodbye and she's gone.

Back in my tiny apartment, I have my phone pressed between my ear and my shoulder. I struggle to lift a box but drop it on my foot.

"Damn it!"

I attempt to walk to the other side of the room and stub my toe.

"Shit!"

I get my laptop out from where it's buried under a pile of papers on the couch. I type out my username and password but nothing freaking happens.

_Stupid WiFi!_

"Yes, I'm still here," I mutter to the customer service person on the other end of my cell. "I was on hold forever; please tell me why my internet isn't working yet. OK, if there's nothing wrong with it from your end, what am I supposed to do? Ask the neighbor if it's something they're doing? Gotcha. Thanks," I grumble as I end the call.

"For fuck all, seriously," I add to myself as I chuck the phone into the couch cushion.

I stand up, sigh heavily, and walk out the front door. I may as well go up there and ask about it. I need to meet my new neighbor anyway.

I climb up the creaky stairs and knock on the door. It's open—not just unlocked, but not even pulled shut. It drifts open further with a whining squeak when I knock on it.

"Hello?" I call.

No answer.

"Hello?" I call again, louder.

"Yeah, come in," I hear a male voice call back out to me.

I inch my way inside. Looking around, I notice that this is a distinctly masculine dwelling, with dark furniture and sparse décor. There's a pizza box on the kitchen counter. There's book shelves everywhere, crammed with books—hundred of them. Scanning a few of them quickly, I see there's a wide variety of genres, but one entire bookcase is filled with medical textbooks.

_Hmm, a doctor. Not bad._

I'm so lost in my own dream world about rich doctors that when I hear a deep voice behind me, I almost jump out of my skin.

"Hello, can I help you with something?" says the smooth, masculine voice behind me.

And then when I look at him, I almost jump out of my skin again. Because all I can _see_ is skin.

There was a very good looking, very _naked_ man standing in front of me.

_Shit, I looked right at his package._

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod," I chant, turning my head away and pressing my hand against the side of my face to shield my eyes. "Um, whoa. You're, uh, extremely…naked?" I stammer stupidly as my words form a question for some reason. My hand covers my eyes as I turn my head away. I feel myself blush furiously.

"Yeah, just got out of the shower. What can I do for you, brown eyes?" he asks.

_What the? Is he flirting with me, while buck naked?_

"Uh, yeah, sorry to intrude, Mr., um…Mr. Naked Guy, but I live downstairs and…you know? Never mind," I say, wanting to leave but stumbling because my eyes are closed and my hand is still over them.

I walk into the wall with a loud thud.

_Ow._

"Well, brown eyes, if we're going to be neighbors and all, we may as well be…neighborly," he says, his voice like silk. "Come on now, I don't bite—unless you're into that kind of thing," he adds with a deep chuckle.

I take a deep breath and try my best to start over.

"I'm having problems with my WiFi, I'm wondering if you have yours set up in such a way that it's interfering somehow?" I say, my words spilling out as fast as I can make them. I must look like a complete ass-clown standing there talking with my hand over my face, but I'm not risking another glimpse of his man business. "Sorry, I can't be more specific than that, I'm not very good with computers," I add.

"Hmm," he says, thinking. "I believe I have a very technical way of solving this problem. Hang on," he says, the laugh in his voice clear.

I hear his footfalls go further and further away but I'm too afraid to uncover my eyes. I hear him come back after a few minutes.

"I think I fixed it," I hear him say. "The old 'power off, power on,' trick," he explains.

"That was quick," I reply with a nervous giggle. "Thanks, um…Mr Naked Guy," I add.

"You know brown eyes, I got dressed about ten minutes ago," he says.

"Oh," I reply dumbly.

I open my eyes and blink a few times. I feel really stupid and my cheeks heat up even more than they did when he first walked into the room. I finally turn my head back toward him.

Standing in front of me in pair of black silk boxers is probably…the most insanely good looking guy I've ever seen. He's got bronze red/brown hair, all spiky and messy, like he's been frolicking in the sack for the last few hours.

_Which he probably has been._

His nose is long and slightly pointy at the end, and ever so slightly crooked with a small bump in the bridge. He's got a devilish smile that goes up higher on one side than the other—like he's thinking about something dirty.

_Which he probably is._

I meet his gaze and notice that his eyes are a brilliant green color, framed with thick lashes and eyebrows. His forehead comes down a little low, giving him an intensely introspective look. He's got a nice amount of scruff growing from his beard—probably a few days worth of not shaving.

"You see something you like, brown eyes?" he asks, his crooked smile growing. He's got pretty white pointy teeth that make me think dirty things.

I clear my throat, mortified that I allowed myself to ogle this complete stranger.

"Sorry, Mr. Nay..." I try to say but he interrupts me.

"I'm Edward," he says, extending his hand to shake mine.

"I'm Bella," I reply, shaking his hand.

I can't help but notice how even his hands are gorgeous. He's got long slim fingers that wrap around my hand tightly but also delicately.

"Piano," he says plainly.

"Excuse me?" I answer, confused.

"My fingers. I play piano. I have been since I was five," he explains.

"Are you a musician?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Yes, but not by trade," he replies. "I'm a doctor—I'm finishing up my residency at Brigham and Women's Hospital," he adds.

"Are you a surgeon?" I ask, trying to not look like I'm prying but failing miserably.

"Not exclusively, though I do perform surgical procedures. I'm a gynecologist," he explains.

"I'm not especially surprised by that," I mumble under my breath.

"Sorry, brown eyes?" he asks with a smirk.

"How'd you know my eyes are brown? I've had them covered until a minute ago," I ask, getting a little irritated by this guy's overly familiar tone.

He just looks at me as a huge shit-eating grin creeps across his face.

"Trust me, brown eyes, you didn't close them _that_ fast."

_Arrogant little bastard. I don't have time for this nonsense, seriously._

"Yeah, OK, well, thanks for that. Bye," I say as I shake my head and turn toward the door.

Back in my apartment, I sit on my couch with my laptop. Whatever this neighbor mine did, it seems to have fixed my WiFi. I pull up a web browser and enter an update on my Twitter status.

_UserName: BadKittykillkill_

_**What are you doing?**_ The heading at the top of the web page asks me. I type into the rectangular box underneath it.

_Met my new neighbor. He's the naked guy upstairs. (TNGUS)_ :op

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Like it? Leave me some love. I already have quite a bit written out. I'll be updating once a week, hopefully!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello and welcome back! First, to answer a question that came up a few times in the reviews: TNGUS stands for The Naked Guy UpStairs. Second, someone asked their ages. Bella is a senior in college, so that puts her right around her 21****st**** birthday. Edward is a resident, I'd say he's probably around 28 or so. That's probably on the younger side for where he is in his med school education, but he's Edward and probably skipped a grade or three.**

**I'd like to introduce my beta and good friend, WriteOnTime, who spoiled me rotten when I went to visit her in NYC last weekend. I love you, Neeners.**

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**I don't own Twilight. I'm just unoriginal.**

My best friends Alice and Rose and I meet for coffee at an outdoor cafe, anxious to catch up after spending all summer apart from one another. I just moved into my new apartment the day before, and as usual, these Nosy Nellies want all the details.

"I still think you should've just moved in with us, Bella. I don't know what you were thinking insisting on getting your own place off-campus," Alice protests. She's still very much against the idea of me having gotten my own place. She's always been protective of me, especially since my dad's illness. I know she's coming from a place of concern, but I know I'm doing what's best for me.

"Alice, come on," I say with an exasperated sigh. "You know why, we talked about this like a billion times. I really need my own space so I can work in peace," I explain. "You bitches a) never shut up and b) have your little corral of stud ponies coming through on the regular. So basically you really only shut up when your mouths are otherwise occupied but then you're making other noises," I quip with heavy snark.

"Jealous, much?" Rose asks sarcastically through pursed lips.

"Yeah, I'm jealous of your cornucopia of cooch cooties," I snort as I roll my eyes.

"That right there is some very nice alliteration, Bella. Totes worth the Harvard tuition for you to be an English major, seriously," Rose shoots back. She scrunches her face at me before sipping her latte daintily.

"Both of you shut up," Alice interjects. "What's with the dude who lives upstairs from you? I read your tweet last night and almost peed my pants," she continues with a laugh.

"Oh God. I couldn't get my internet working, so I go upstairs to ask him for help. He's freaking naked! I was mortified," I explain, shaking my head and smirking.

"You check out the goods?" Rose asks, biting her lip mischievously and winking at me.

"Was it like 'hot naked' or 'gross naked?'" Alice inquires, her eyes round like saucers.

"I wasn't looking, I covered my eyes," I reply with an uncomfortable grimace.

Neither one of them believes me.

_Shit._

"Such. A. Fucking. Liar," Rose informs me, punctuating each word with a sharp nod of her head.

Alice points at me and starts to snort-laugh.

"Look at her face. She's lying her ass off!" she exclaims.

I let out a sigh. It's no use trying to be glib about the male penis with these two. It's like glossing over how you just smoked the best homegrown to a bunch of Dead Heads.

"He was 'hot naked,' OK? Hot naked. He did put boxers on so I looked at him then," I confess.

They stare at me with heavy skepticism for what seems like an hour, not even blinking once.

"_Fine_. I saw the goods. It was…rather nice, OK?"

Rose lets out one of the _pphhhhhtt!! _laughs.

"Rather nice?! Who the fuck describes it like that?" she asks incredulously.

"So, how big? How thick?" Alice asks shamelessly. "These details are really important. To me, at least," she informs me.

"Christ, you two are _nasty_," I tell them, shaking my head in disgust.

"Did you talk to him or just run screaming at the sight of an actual human male dick?" Rose asks, laughing and elbowing Alice in the ribs.

"I talked to him. For like two minutes. He fixed whatever was messing with my computer," I respond, playing with the cardboard sleeve on my coffee cup.

"Aside from the junk, is the rest of him also 'rather nice?'" Alice presses.

"Yeah, I mean he had a cute face, I guess. And a nice body, especially for somebody who probably works constantly. He graduated from the med school—he's a resident at Brigham's," I explain.

My two friends drop their spoons simultaneously and just stare at me.

"You live downstairs from a hot doctor who walks around _naked_?" Alice asks, her little mouth hanging open.

"Jesus 'of-all-the-lucky-bitches' Christ, how come this shit never happens to me?!?! And why does it happen to you, Prunella Ironsnatch?" Rose asks rhetorically, her palms turned up as she blinks repeatedly.

"So, you gonna go up to his place and ask for a little somethin-somethin? Cure what ails you? Some sexual healin?" Alice teases as she licks her lips suggestively.

I screw up my face and wrinkle my nose like something smells really, really awful.

"Are you kidding me? He seems like a complete manwhore. Not just a manwhore—a man-_hoor_. He's a gynecologist for shit's sake," I scoff with a wave of my hand.

"Whaaaat?" Rose exclaims. "Damn, this just gets better and better. Can you imagine what this guy must know about vaginas? He'd have you seeing Jesus in like 12 seconds," she remarks with a long, slow whistle.

"A vagina guru," Alice says wistfully, resting her chin in her palm.

"A vagitarian, too, I bet," Rose adds.

"Total vaginator," Alice pipes up.

They both start laughing hysterically but I'm not amused. At all.

"Well, he's not dining at this vagitarian restaurant. No, thank you. Besides, I'm not his type. I'm not all slutty and filthy like you bitches," I huff.

And with that, I toss my empty coffee cup into the trash and head back to my apartment.

As I'm unlocking my door, I hear footsteps behind me. I glance over and see Edward climbing the stairs and approaching me, presumably to continue up to his own apartment, but he slows down and stands next to me.

We exchange glances and I notice that he's dressed in a white dress shirt, tie and black khakis. He inches very close to me so he can walk by. Feeling really uncomfortable, I turn my head away and try to focus on unlocking my door. I seem to be having an inordinate amount of difficulty with doing that for some reason.

"Hello, Bella," I hear him say as I feel him brush against me briefly. All of the hairs on my neck stand up.

"Hi," I say in return, more evasively than I mean it.

I quickly open my door, walk in and shut the door behind me, leaving Edward standing in the hall alone. I don't hear anything from behind my door for a minute, and then footsteps start to climb the stairs.

A little while later, I'm staring at all the food I've made for dinner. It's just not humanly possible for one person to eat all this. I never could make anything in small quantities—it's a cooking habit I inherited from my mom and her Italian mother.

"I'm either really stupid or really horny. Probably both," I mutter to myself as I pack up the food in plastic containers.

I stand in front of Edward's door and knock, balancing the food containers in my hands.

Edward opens the door and peers at me, his face breaking into a smile.

"Oh, hello Bella," he says, tilting his head to the side.

"Hi, Edward," I reply, somewhat awkwardly.

"Hey, you said two whole syllables this time. What's up?" he says playfully.

I shrug my shoulders lightly and look down at the containers in my hands.

"I made dinner, thought I'd bring it over. I like to cook but always make too much. Would you like some?" I offer, trying to make up for being so terse earlier.

"That depends," he replies with a sly smile.

"On what?" I ask.

"Will you come inside and share it with me?"

"I think I can manage that," I reply with a smile of my own.

"Alright then, brown eyes, come in," he offers, opening the door all the way so that I can slip inside.

"It's not much, just some pasta," I say, placing the food down on the table.

"I appreciate it. Thank you," he responds politely. He seems a little uncomfortable, as if I've done something excessive or overly friendly. This strikes me as a little absurd considering I just saw him naked the day before, and that would be altogether overly friendly compared to bringing over some extra pasta, but I try not to overanalyze the situation.

"You're welcome," I offer quietly.

"Uh, have a seat. Would you like some wine?" he asks as he pulls my chair out for me.

"Um, OK. I'm not really a drinker, so just like a small glass, please," I reply as I sit down.

After getting us set up with some plates and silverware, Edward starts peppering me with questions to make conversation.

"So, an English major, huh? You have any plans for after you graduate?" he asks.

"Yeah, actually, I'm planning on applying to graduate school. Not sure where, though, just yet. I'm still working on that," I reply, feeling slightly self-conscious.

"So is your boyfriend just going to follow you wherever you end up?" he asks with a playful grin.

_Snort. Nice try._

"I don't have a boyfriend," I state plainly, wringing the napkin in my lap. Thank God he can't see me doing it.

"Well that's surprising—a pretty girl like you," he offers with a raised eyebrow.

"I just don't have a lot of time, especially now. I have this really long thesis I need to write," I explain, feeling flustered at how personal the conversation is becoming.

"People make time for what they want, brown eyes," he says.

"I do want...that," I answer defensively.

_I think I just told him I want sex. Did I?_

"Then why don't you get _that_?"

"Get what?"

"What you need."

"I don't 'need' anything."

"Brown eyes, _everybody_ needs it," he says, looking at me with an amused expression.

"What?" I ask in an annoyed tone, wondering why he's looking at me like he can read my mind. It's pretty fucking unnerving.

"You look really tense. How long has it been?"

"I'm not telling you that!"

"That long, huh?"

"You're really forward and inappropriate, you know that?"

"And yet I'm willing to bet I 'get what I need' a lot more than you do. That should tell you something."

"Can we change the subject?"

Edward holds up the bottle of wine that's on the table next to him.

"More wine?"

"Yes, please," I reply. I raise my glass quickly. I need to get more alcohol in my system.

_Like. Right. Now._

He pours me another glass of wine and I take several large gulps.

"So, what's this paper you're going to be working on?" he asks.

"Uh...it's um. Not all that interesting, really," I answer with a nervous laugh.

_Did he _have_ to ask me that?_

"What? You don't want to tell me?" he presses, looking especially curious as he squints his eyes at me and smiles.

I feel like I could fry an egg on my cheek. Egg on my face—oddly appropriate. I take another large swallow of wine and close my eyes briefly. Taking a deep breath, I plow right into my answer, pride and self-respect be damned.

"Um, it's on, um, eroticism in Victorian poetry," I mumble under my breath.

"I'm sorry, what? Can you repeat that?" he teases, cupping his hand over his ear.

I let out an exasperated sigh.

"Eroticism in Victorian poetry," I say, punctuating each word with staccato.

Edward is beyond amused and a long, deep laugh rumbles out of him.

"This is good. Let me see if I understand," he replies with a huge smile, his pointy teeth biting into his pouty bottom lip. "You read about 'it,' write about 'it,' but you don't have time to actually do 'it?' Do I understand that right?" he asks with that same self-satisfied smug look he seems to have on his face all the time.

I clear my throat loudly. This is beyond teasing. He's trying to embarrass me and frankly, it's pretty fucking rude.

"I don't do 'it' with just anybody. And judging by the way you talk to a woman, it's kind of a mystery to me how you get to do 'it' at all," I accuse.

"I only tell a woman what she needs to hear," he replies softly as he wipes his mouth with his napkin.

"Well, I don't need to hear what you're saying right now," I argue sharply.

"Sure you do. You should see how wound up you are. To be honest, you could really benefit from directing all that energy in a more _constructive_ way," he purrs.

My mouth drops open and my eyes go wide. Edward seems to have no boundaries at all. It's no longer cute or sexy or funny.

"Wow. You're um..." I begin but am unable to finish.

"What, brown eyes? Go ahead. Say it. Wouldn't be the first time," he taunts.

"You're kind of...a pig," I say, shaking my head.

Instead of being insulted, he just laughs. I have to think it's par for the course, really.

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm kind of unapologetic about that. I know what I am and I'm more than OK with it. How well do you know yourself?" he asks back.

"I know that I don't like being treated like an object or a thing to use and throw away."

"Nobody gets used unless they're deceived in some way. I _never_ lie. And I don't manipulate. And yet, I get plenty of dates."

"Doesn't mean it's right. People get hurt thinking they'll get something more and then don't."

"If I didn't put that idea in their head, then that's not my fault."

"So, you basically don't want anyone to ever expect anything from you?"

"Oh they should expect something. A lot of it. Over and over."

"Wow. You're amazing."

"Yes, I'm that too. Listen, thanks for the meal, and I'd love to repay the kindness. Normally I would be very happy to but I have a third shift to work at the hospital. Otherwise, I would've definitely given you the extra time you might have been hoping for when you came up here."

I'm simply aghast at hearing that last thing he just said.

_Is he really saying that I must have come up here for sex?_

"Extra time? Wait, you think I came up here with food so I could _do you_? That's it. Whatever, dude," I snap, feeling my anger and indignation rising. I wonder who the hell this guy thinks he is.

I get up quickly but knock my foot into the table leg. I wince as I take a few steps with a slight limp.

"What's wrong with your foot?" he asks, the concern clear in his voice.

I stand on one leg and lean my hand on the table for balance.

"Nothing, I dropped a box on it the other day and now I've stubbed the same toe twice."

"Here, let me just take a quick look at it."

Edward stands up and motions for me to sit back down in my chair. I sit as he kneels in front of me and gently picks up my bare foot and looks at it. He studies my toes with a look of complete concentration, like he's reading a very complicated book.

"Is it this one right here?" he asks as he gently moves my pinky toe up and down with two fingers. I grimace audibly.

"Ouch!" I gasp, feeling rather like a baby.

"You probably just bruised the tendon. If it's still bugging you after a few more days, you should probably get some x-rays," he explains as he puts my foot down carefully.

"Thanks. I should get going," I reply with a tight smile.

"Here, let me help you. You, uh, seem a little clumsy," he tells me with a laugh.

Edward holds his hand out to help me stand up. I rise to my feet and we stand facing one another. I feel conflicted—like I want to hug him but also smack him.

"Yeah, I guess I am," I reply, returning his laugh. I suddenly feel really awkward. I regret calling him a pig given that he's just shown concern over my foot even though I'd just insulted him.

"Look, Edward, I'm sorry I called you a pig," I say softly.

"It's OK. I shouldn't have offended you. I guess we're even," he replies, looking down at the floor. He looks like a little boy all of a sudden—earnest, but also hopelessly compelled to be bad despite himself.

"Fair enough," I answer as I turn and reach for the door. "Bye."

"Good night, Bella."

Back in my apartment, I sit with my laptop in front of me, my foot with the injured pinky propped up on the coffee table. I update my blog as I polish off the last of my own bottle of wine.

_Had dinner with TNGUS. No more pinot with that one. No more pinot. Peen? No! Do NOT poke the porcine. Only bad things would happen. And by bad I might mean sexy. Shit, I'm drunk. I wish I wouldn't have acted like such an uptight geek. I think maybe I judged him too harshly. Seems he has a nice side to him, and like he said he is honest about himself. I can respect that. I can also respect that he's good looking. And well spoken. And smart. Peeeeeno._

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**Goodness gracious, Nakedward! Presumptuous, much? Bella's gonna hafta teach this boy a thing or two about how to act like a gentleman. Clearly.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey, hey! Back again. Thanks for joining me for chapter three. Also, thanks for all the really awesome reviews. I read and appreciate each and every one. If you have a specific question in your review, I'll try my best to remember to answer it here.**

**Hugs and smooches to my beta WriteOnTime. She's the Nutella to my marshmallow Fluff.**

**I don't own Twilight. I'm just unoriginal.**

My two friends and I are sitting on the stoop outside my apartment people watching, or as Rose likes to call it "beefcake browsing."

"You guys are being quiet for a change," I say leaning back on my elbows and letting the afternoon sun warm my face.

"We're guy watching, Bella. You should try it," Rose quips.

Alice lowers her sunglasses to get a better look at something in the distance.

"Seriously, you could use a little bit of crotch ogling in your life," she informs me.

"Amazing how quickly it all turns crude with you two. You could turn 'Sesame Street' into something completely foul," I snap back as I roll my eyes.

"Bitch, please!" Alice snorts. "That show is foul on its own! Bert and Ernie? Totally brokeback," she adds with a smirk.

"I gotta say, she has a point. Ernie in the bathtub with Bert just standing there? Very 'Little Ashes,'" Rose surmises.

"So gross. Although, Cookie Monster...I think he has some kind of sex addiction," I muse. My friends look at me and laugh.

"Well, well, who is that tall drink of yummy headed this way?" Rose asks.

"No shit. Daaaaamn," Alice chimes in.

I look over in the direction that has captivated their attention so completely. I immediately recognize the tall figure headed toward us—his unmistakably tousled hair and slightly slouchy gait is very much familiar to me, whether I wanted it to be or not.

"Oh, that's TNGUS. That's Edward," I inform them. He approaches us on his way inside. He's got on his black sunglasses, a t-shirt, cargo shorts and that irrepressible know-it-all smirk.

"_That's_ your neighbor? Oh my God, Bella, understatements, much? You said 'cute' not fuckhot," Rose whispers.

"Ladies. Hello, Bella. Nice to see you," Edward says as he climbs the stairs and ambles toward the door. He stops when Alice blocks his path.

"Hello, yourself, stranger," she purrs.

"Guys, this is my neighbor, Edward. Edward, this is Alice and Rose," I say, by way of introduction.

"Hey, Edward. Bella told us about you. She said you were _rather nice_," Rose says, letting her last two words seep from between her lips very slowly and suggestively.

_Why are these two so disgusting?_

They immediately start chuckling. All I can do is glare at them. I pull Alice out of the way so Edward can reach the door. He and I look at each other briefly before he winks at me and walks inside.

"Holy Shit, Bella," Alice says as she stares at my sideways.

"Ugh, OK! Maybe I shortchanged him. He's totally hot. Happy now? But I'm telling you, he is really, really, into himself. Like to an absurd degree. Just...bleah," I remind them.

"She is out of her freaking mind," Rose tells Alice, as if I'm not even standing right next to them.

"She didn't even notice, Rosie. Did not even notice," Alice replies, shaking her head.

"Notice what?" I ask, knitting my brows. "I'm standing right here! Hello!"

"Bella. He was totally staring at you. Like you were a pepperoni Hot Pocket," Rose says.

"He basically sexed you with his eyeballs, Prunella," Alice explains, batting her eyelashes.

"So? He probably looks at every woman like that," I reply, not understanding what the big deal is.

"Dude, if he looked at me like he looked at you just now, I would not be sitting here. I'd be upstairs letting your neighbor peel off my La Perla's with his fucking teeth," Rose informs me.

"You're all class, Ro. All class," I counter, rolling my eyes.

"You should try talking to him more. He's not gonna eat you. Unless, you want him to," Alice says before she and Rose laugh hysterically.

"You two never have anything better to do than torment me," I accuse them before I get up and go back inside.

Later that night, I sit at my desk, working and surrounded by books and papers when I hear a loud commotion in the hallway. Among the various noises are numerous footsteps, voices and laughter. I'm curious, so I get up and walk to my door, and cracking it open just enough to peek one eye through the open sliver.

Two very leggy, very trashed-looking Amazon women in skimpy cocktail dresses are stumbling by, arm in arm, laughing their heads off and obviously a little drunk. The blonde one turns and looks behind her.

"Come on Edward, don't keep us waiting," she slurs with a grin.

The other Amazon, a brunette, notices me just then.

"Hi," she giggles, looking at me. "Sorry to disturb your...whatever," she adds with a condescending snort.

Both girls look at each other, bust a gut laughing, and keep walking. Just as I'm about to slam my door in disgust, Edward walks by.

"Good evening, Bella," he says with a smirk.

"Hi," I say curtly, not even looking at him.

"Back to one syllable, huh, brown eyes? I told you, I know what I am," he reminds me with a raised eyebrow.

I may have only said one syllable, but in that one word, I convey all my disgust, disapproval and disappointment. None of it is lost on Edward—not one modicum of that bitterness. Yet, what he doesn't sense is, no matter how much I don't like what I'm seeing, I still can't stop myself from looking at it.

I wait until I hear him climbing the stairs before I shut the door.

Walking back to my desk, I once again turn my attention to my laptop and enter a new status update on Twitter:

_Simultaneously disgusted yet unbearably turned on._

My week ends quite unceremoniously as I manage to avoid seeing hide nor hair of Edward after his late night threesome hook-up. On Saturday evening, Rose and Alice manage to cajole me into going to a frat party off-campus at one of the large Victorian style frat houses. We're standing outside on the back lawn drinking watered down beer. I'm trying to look like I'm enjoying myself but it's clearly not working. I just want to sit in my apartment, read, and pass the fuck out.

"I'm telling you Bella, you don't ever listen. You need to just screw this guy—exorcise him out of your system through your girly bits," Rose advises me.

I'd told them about seeing Edward with his two floozies. I must have sounded more caustic than I intended to because they seem to think that I'm really bothered by seeing him with other women. That really isn't the case. What bothers me is his nonchalance—no, his outright _conceit_ over his sexual conquests. I find it rather repulsive.

_Yet I can't for a second stop thinking about it. Don't tell my friends that, though._

"Look, he's hot, he's smart, he lives upstairs. Go up there for a booty call every once in a while. He's not gonna turn you down. Rose and I both saw the way he was looking at you," Alice says, agreeing with Rose.

"I dunno. It just seems like a bad idea. I think the only reason why I'm into him is because I know he's bad news. Like it's about playing with something dangerous, you know?" I confess.

"Not really. No, I don't," Alice replies with a laugh. "Here's this dude who is probably fucking amazing in bed—yours for the taking—no strings attached. You admit you're attracted to him, yet you won't touch him. That makes no fucking sense, no offense, sweetie," Alice explains.

"Seriously, what is it, Bella?" Rose asks, genuinely wanting answers from me that I just don't have. "What, are you on the prowl for a husband or something? It's not like the streets of Cambridge are littered with total sweethearts just waiting for you to adopt them like a puppy. They're _all_ assholes. This one just doesn't pretend that he's not," she adds.

"Would it be so bad to have a little fun?" Alice asks.

"No, I guess it wouldn't," I admit, somewhat sheepishly.

"Oh hey—look, it's Emmett and Jasper. We can always trust those guys for a little post-party action," Rose says with a knowing smile.

They both laugh and motion at the guys to come over. They have a friend with them, but I don't recognize him. I've known both Emmett and Jasper since meeting them at a party last year. Both have had on again/off again status with Rose and Alice. Here's hoping all four of them get it right this year.

"Great, corral of ponies coming through once again," I mumble dejectedly. I know what it means when Alice and Rose get distracted by their hook-ups. Bella either gets left to her own devices, or worse, left with a dork she can't shake for the rest of the night.

"I swear to God, Bella. Get. LAID," Alice tells me with playful anger.

"Hey Emmett, hey Jasper," Rose says, greeting the guys.

"Rose, what's up?" Emmett replies with a smile. "This is my buddy Jake. Jake, this is Rose and Alice and...sorry, I can never remember your name," he says to me.

"Bella," I remind him simply.

"Hi Bella, nice to meet you," Jake says, putting his hand out for me to shake.

"Hi, nice to meet you too," I tell him.

"Um, can I get you a beer?" He offers, but I hold up the cup I already have in my hand.

"I'm all set. Thanks."

Just then we both attempt to speak at the same time, which makes us laugh uncomfortably.

"So, you come out to these parties a lot?" he asks.

"Not really. Usually Tweedledee and Tweedledum over there have to extract me from my work, dust me off and expose me to fresh air," I joke.

"Well, that's good. Everybody needs a little airing out, I guess. My friends had to kinda drag me over here too," he replies, smiling lightly.

"There you go, we can air out together. What's your major, anyway?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"Philosophy. Moralistic Relativism. Those burning questions," he answers with heavy sarcasm.

"Ah, Jean-Paul Sartre, Friedrich Nietzsche. _Very serious bunch_. I don't think they sat around telling each other dirty limericks," I joke back.

"Hey now, we're not all like that," he scolds playfully. "OK, maybe we are," he concedes.

Jasper approaches us and asks if we'd to join the rest of the group in a game of Kings. I grudgingly agree since I always lose at drinking games but I don't really want to be anti-social, so Jake and I join my friends inside and sit at a table in a large living room. After an hour, my usual prediction is correct and I've had more to drink than anyone else and am clearly drunk.

"I don't know why you play these drinking games Bella, you're always the worst player and the first to quit," Rose reminds me.

"Yeah, you'd think I'd learn by now. I think I'm just gonna call a cab and go home. You think they'd drive me this short a distance?" I ask as I throw my cards down.

"I can walk you. I mean, if that's OK," Jake offers.

Rose gives me a subtle raise of her eyebrow and a nod, encouraging me to take Jake up on his offer.

"Yeah actually, that would be great," I tell him. We get up, say our goodnights and head out down the quiet street. We chit-chat as we make our way to my doorstep. I feel comfortable talking to Jake. He's one of those accessible, friendly types that I don't meet very often.

"This is my stop," I tell him as we get to my brownstone.

"Hey, maybe I'll see you around campus. I can 'friend' you on 'facebook,' we could coffee sometime?"

"That would be cool."

He takes a step closer to me and I get a little nervous all of a sudden.

"Well, good night."

"Good night."

He leans his face into mine and kisses me but I turn my head away. It just doesn't feel right for some reason, like my cousin is trying to make out with me or something. He looks hurt, so I try to smile at him.

Jake steps closer and tries to kiss me again, a little more insistent this time.

"Look, Jake, I'm sorry," I say, turning away from him again and taking a step back. I'm too embarrassed to look at him, so I just stare at the pavement.

I hear a car door slam shut and footsteps approaching—it's Edward.

"Bella, are you OK?" he asks, seeing the weirded out look on my face.

"We're fine," Jake informs him. Edward looks over at him, like he's sizing him up. All of a sudden they're both eyeing each other, debating silently whether or not to be civil or confrontational.

"I didn't ask you," Edward says in a clipped tone.

"Well, I'm telling you," Jake answers through clenched teeth. He grabs my arm to pull me away.

"Um, Jake, maybe you should…" I try to say as I pull my arm back, but Edward interrupts me.

"Bella, is this guy hassling you?" he asks, gently tugging my other arm.

_What the fuck am I, a ragdoll? This is idiotic._

"No, he's not—he was just walking me home. Jake, this is my neighbor, Edward," I tell them, trying to ease the obvious tension. "We were just saying 'goodnight,' right, Jake?" I add.

"Perfect," Edward says with a plastic smile. "Goodnight, Jake," he adds, pulling me toward the door.

"Edward!" I protest, but it's no use. Edward is practically dragging me inside. "Bye, Jake," I mutter. Jake looks like he badly wants to kill Edward but doesn't say anything. He turns on his heel abruptly and stomps away.

"You sure you're alright?" Edward asks as we enter the hallway.

"I'm fine! I didn't need your help. I can take care of myself," I tell him angrily as I fish my keys out and fumble around with them.

"I never said you couldn't. I just wanted to make sure that guy wasn't bothering you."

"You know what? I got myself into that situation; I could've gotten myself out."

"You can't always control what other people do to you."

And just like that, I snap. Something in me comes apart at the seams. Edward thinking he can just swoop in and act like he has some kind of authority over me just causes my blood to boil suddenly.

"I know that! I know that really well. All kinds of shit has happened to me that was out of my control, trust me. So quit fucking psychoanalyzing me like I'm a fucking test subject or something. Why do you care, anyway? I thought you knew what you were, right? Just a pig?" I rant, my eyes wide with anger and hurt pride.

"Whoa. Why so pissed off? You know what? You're a miserable little prude. You're determined not to like me," he shoots back, his mouth screwed up in a snarl.

"And you're an asshole. Goodnight, Edward. Leave me alone," I bark, finally getting my door unlocked. I walk into my apartment and promptly slam the door shut. I feel my face tighten immediately as my eyes begin to sting. I hear Edward's angry footsteps pound against the staircase leading up to his door.

Feeling hopeless and sad, I do the only thing I can think of. I grab my laptop, lie down on my bed, and begin to type a blog entry.

_Mood: still slightly drunk and fucked up, in all sorts of ways._

_Tonight I held off my irritation at a wolf in sheep's clothing and instead directed it at a sheep in wolf's clothing. I got mad at TNGUS for being nice. And it's because I suck. And it's because it's like he can simply pick the thoughts right out of my head and that is fucking MADDENING. I don't know whether to kiss and lick and bite and grope him or beat him down with my shoe. He's infuriating. And I really really like that. Asshole. Nice, intelligent, good looking asshole._

I flop down onto my pillows, facedown, and cry myself to sleep.

**Poor Bella. She's all jumbled up. Not to worry, things will unjumble! Stay tuned. I have a number of chapters already written, which is why I'm updating so quickly. Once those all post, I'll be slowing down to once a week updates. ;o)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this little story of mine. Let's see what's in store for these crazy kids, shall we?**

**Thanks again to WriteOnTime, my beta extraordinaire.**

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**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

Alice and Rose sit with me in my living room as I stare blankly at the wall and sigh.

Rose is next to me on the couch, holding my feet and painting my toe nails.

"So you and your friendly neighbor aren't so friendly anymore, huh?" she asks.

"No, we haven't spoken for a week or so now. I mean, we see each other in the hall and say hi. That's about it," I reply.

"Bella, why don't you just go make nice with him?" Alice asks, looking up from the manicure she's giving herself.

"Because he was sweet to me for like thirty seconds. Except for that, ever since I moved here he's been a douche. He's got, seriously, an endless parade of hoochies going up and down the stairs. It's gross," I complain.

"OK, so the hoochie parade is annoying, but don't you think you judge this guy a little harshly? I mean, you can be his friend and not give a shit that he's a hoor. It shouldn't bug you if you're just friends with him, right?" Alice points out.

"Yeah, that's true. It really is none of my business," I agree, seeing her point.

"You know what though?" Rose asks.

"What?" I ask back.

"You will have some sexy fucking toe nails. Hey, didn't he totally feel up your foot once? Maybe he has a foot fetish. Rubs his junk all over women's toes. You could give him a footjob," she says with a snort. She and Alice start cracking up at Rose's gross humor.

"Rose, you and Alice need to be in some kind of program or maybe counseling. No one should think about cock this much. It's not normal," I joke back.

"So are you gonna try to say something to him or not?" Alice asks.

"I don't know. I was pretty bitchy to him. I'm sure he wouldn't even give a shit one way or another if I ever spoke to him again," I answer with a sad sigh. "I do feel like I overreacted, but I don't really know how to fix it now. I can't help but think that things are past the point of repair," I explain.

"That's the girl I love, the born optimist!" Rose teases.

"You know, you're less annoying when you're just filthy. Snarky is way worse. Seriously. You need to leave that shit to the professionals, Rose," I inform her.

"See maybe if you had a little less of that anger and bitterness, you'd be talking about cock all day right along with us," Alice points out.

"You just need that guy or _any_ guy really, to just pound the angry right out of you. Frankly the dude would deserve like a Nobel Prize or something. It would alleviate a lot of the world's suffering for you to get soundly worked over. Repeatedly," Rose adds.

"Why? Why am I even friends with you?" I ask rhetorically with a laugh.

"Because deep down inside, you know that you really need to get laid—deep down inside," Alice says sweetly.

Much later that night, I wake up bolt upright in my bed. There's a bright flash of light that strobes through my room before an earsplitting crash makes me shriek. I jump off my bed and gasp before it all happens again—a bright flash and then a horribly loud BOOM.

"Shit," I mutter as I feel my breath begin to come in fast pants. My heart's beating a mile a minute.

_I really, really, hate thunderstorms. They scare the ever living shit out of me._

I pad over to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge when there's a third flash and loud crash. All of a sudden, the room goes pitch black—no dim light from the range, no light on in the fridge, its familiar hum now silent. The green glow from the clock in the microwave is gone too.

When I see and hear another flash and crack, I'm just creeped out—the lights are off and everything is eerily quiet except for the storm. I can only hear slight little footfalls around me and I feel the panic rising in my chest like nothing else I've felt in a long time.

"OK, that was too loud," I tell myself as my hands begin to shake.

Even though Edward and I aren't speaking, I badly want to go up there to see if he's lost power too. Of course, it's just my luck that I can't find a flashlight or a single candle anywhere in my apartment.

I feel around for the door, fumbling in the dark. The hallway is very dim because the lights are out. I trot up the stairs and knock on Edward's door. He opens it fairly quickly, holding a flashlight. I feel the relief wash through me when I see his face. His hair is a wild mass of disarray, and his t-shirt and boxers are all crumpled from sleep.

"Hey, did your lights go out?" he asks.

"Yeah, have no idea where my flashlight is, and I don't think it even has batteries in it," I confess, feeling silly and unprepared.

There's another loud crash of thunder and I jump from the loud, sudden noise. Edward sees the startled look on my face and his expression changes, he seems mildly amused but also concerned.

"Come inside, I was about to make some tea," he says, opening the door so that I can walk in.

"Thanks," I say quietly, looking down as I go inside his apartment.

We sit in his living room for a bit on one of the big brown couches, sipping our tea with the noise from the storm being the only sound. Our relative silence is becoming increasingly uncomfortable for me, so I finally push myself to speak.

"Edward," I begin, "I'm sorry we fought, and for how I snapped at you. It was wrong for me to do that," I offer in a soft voice. I stare into my mug of tea as if there was something in there really interesting to look at.

"Don't worry about it. I did call you a prude, so I think we're even again," he responds with a slight half-smile. I hate to admit it, even to myself, but I really missed that smile in the week or so that we barely spoke or saw each other. I'm slowly coming to the realization that there was a rakish charm to Edward that, in fact, makes him less off-putting to me than I pretend he is.

Another loud clap of thunder makes me jump and gasp where I sit. Edward leans over and gently puts his hand on my thigh. It's an innocent gesture—his face is kind, smiling, his head tilted slightly.

"You alright? It's just thunder," he asks.

"I know, but it just never stopped scaring me, no matter how old I got," I say with a nervous laugh. "It used to startle me worse when I was kid, though. My dad, he'd try to, you know, comfort me, try to distract me. We would make a big fort out of bed sheets in my family room tell funny jokes or read silly poems. It would make everything OK. He was good at that. He was good at a lot of things," I explain, my voice becoming softer and softer until it's barely a whisper.

"Your dad—he isn't still with us?" Edward asks.

"No. He's not. He had stomach cancer; we didn't even know he was sick until he only had a few weeks. So, um, he died just before spring break, about six months ago," I reveal. It feels oddly consoling to tell someone about my dad; I don't feel uncomfortable explaining it to Edward.

"I'm sorry about that, about your loss," he offers.

"So yeah, this is actually the first time I'm hearing thunder since he died. Isn't that a strange thing to pop into my head? Sorry Edward, I'm just being depressing and weird. I'm sorry," I say, realizing that while it may not be awkward for me to talk about this, it may be awkward for him to listen.

"No, no. Don't apologize. I'm a doctor—it's something I deal with, unfortunately. It's not a depressing or uncomfortable subject," he assures me. And once again, I see that kind side to him, the side that only peeks out at me every so often when I don't really expect it. I honestly don't know what to make of him when he's like this. I think to myself that I wish he'd pick what or who he really was—a nice guy or a jackass. It would be a lot easier for me, at least.

"Thanks. For being cool about it," I reply. "Um, what about your family? Are you close with your parents?"

He looks uncomfortable for a minute before answering and I regret even bringing it up.

"I never knew my dad," he explains, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "My mom raised me alone," he adds. He gives me a forced smile. "I do envy you, though; your dad sounds like he was really cool."

We're quiet again as my thoughts drift back to my days as a kid in Phoenix, when a good thunderstorm was relatively rare but always extremely loud. My dad would always make me feel safe and protected. The spooky and creepy became fun and adventurous. My father always knew how to turn things around like that.

I snap myself out of my daydream when the storm continues. A loud crack shatters the space around me and before I can help it, I grab Edward, wrapping my arms tightly around his torso and hiding my face in his chest without thinking. My heart is racing, practically beating out of my rib cage. I feel his hand stroke the hair on the back of my head.

"Hey, you know, this thunder, it doesn't seem to be letting up," he says after another particularly loud boom echoes from the sky above us. "Plus it's kinda windy and the rain's coming down hard. It's pretty stormy and loud. So, if, you know, you get the crazy urge to build a fort, my linen closet is right…there," he tells me, pointing to the hallway.

"Really?" I ask, blushing lightly and feeling a little childish, like he's humoring me.

"Personally I think it would be a little kooky but also fun. So I vote yes," he urges with a playful smirk.

"I'm not sure if you're making fun of me or trying to make me feel better," I reply with mild accusation. "I tell you what, though, I have a soft spot for people who try to redeem themselves in my eyes, so I'm gonna say you're trying to make me feel better. So, OK. I'm gonna build a fort," I add, making my way to his linen closet.

A few moments later, we're 'camped out' on Edward's living room floor, with sheets draped above us forming a big tent. I wander around his various bookcases, looking for any kind of funny book or perhaps something with nonsense poetry. I grab a collected works of Edgar Allen Poe before settling down next to Edward on the floor atop a mass of pillows and couch cushions.

"Dude, seriously, your selection of humor and silly poetry is terribly lacking. How many books about robots can one person own?" I lament playfully.

"Hey, I love sci-fi," he argues with a pout. "_Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep_ is one of my favorite books ever."

"Well that's great, but it's, um, also really geeky," I tease with a laugh.

"Geeky, huh?" he repeats with a raised eyebrow as if to say 'who the hell are _you_ calling geeky, sister?'

"Yeah," I taunt back. As far as witty retorts go, that one kinda sucked.

"You really have a completely shit impression of me, don't you?" he asks with a chuckle.

"Um, not really," I reply unconvincingly. "OK, maybe a little. It's getting better though! Seriously, you're a good guy, Edward, I really do think that," I say with more conviction.

"Well, gee, I think you're swell, Bella," he tells me in a nasally voice and plastered-on smile.

"Swell? Of all the adjectives you could pick, you pick swell?" I laugh. "You know, this shitty impression thing, I think it goes both ways. How boring do I seem to you? Like just a completely bland little schoolmarm? I need to consider some kind of personality transplant, clearly," I say, my self-deprecation in full force.

"Nooo, come on," he disagrees. "You're exaggerating like nuts. I think maybe you know, you're maybe just a _little_ 'holier than thou.' Just like a pinch. A dash. A smidge," he jokes, closing one eye while making a pinching motion with his thumb and forefinger.

"I'm not telling you any jokes now. Clearly you're funny enough for both of us," I huff playfully. I try flopping a pillow over his head but he ducks out of my way and laughs.

His face becomes slightly more serious as he shifts over toward me slightly.

"There are other things we could do besides tell jokes," he tells me in a soft voice.

"Other things? What kind of other things?" I ask, genuinely curious at first. But then the true meaning of his words sinks in and I debate whether or not we should head down this road of flirtation.

His face moves slowly closer to mine. I stare at his lips, so pouty and soft looking.

"Things that are perhaps more entertaining," he suggests.

"Knitting?" I quip nervously.

"No."

"Twenty Questions?"

"No."

"Crossword puzzle?"

"No."

"Mah Jong?"

"No, brown eyes," he insists, his mouth now so close to mine, I can almost taste his breath.

And just like that, we kiss. His mouth is absurdly delicate and soft—not like I'd imagine a man's lips to feel. For such a passionate, virile, masculine looking guy, Edward's kiss feels like a powder puff. I would've for sure stifled a laugh over it, but an immediate thought extinguishes all humor from me.

_Edward is being…a gentleman?_

He's kissing me sweetly, nicely. And I can't help but realize he's doing that because he thinks that's how I ought to be kissed.

"You know maybe we should think about whether this is a good idea," he says suddenly, pulling back from me. Just like that, the moment is lost, like a soap bubble bursting.

"Uh, yeah. Probably not. I mean we're not, like, together, and I don't think I can really be OK with it otherwise. That's just me. Um, sorry," I reply, feeling my face turning hot. I'm embarrassed to have kissed him now, and even more embarrassed to admit that I am, in fact, as big a prude as he seems to think I am.

"Don't be sorry. I think I'd like being your friend. You're a lot of fun," he tells me with a smile. He pats and rubs my back and all I can think is that he's trying to console me.

"Plus, you know, we kinda fight a lot," I point out with a laugh. "I can't see how that would end well."

"But that's what I like about you—you're a feisty one. In a completely adorable and non-threatening way, of course," he teases.

"Such an asshole," I accuse, twisting my face up at him and making a fist. He just laughs at me.

The lights come back on then, and we look around as the room is suddenly lit and back to life.

"The electricity is back," I say, completely pointing out the obvious.

"Looks like it," Edward agrees. We both look…disappointed.

"I should probably go back downstairs," I tell him with a sigh and a light yawn. I stand up, stretch, and start dismantling the fort.

"Don't worry about it, I got it," he says, putting his hand on my arm lightly. I can't help but look down at his hand, the way his long fingers are curled softly around my forearm. My eyes go from his hand to his face, and I so badly want to say or do something to keep that feeling of butterflies inside me. But I can't muster it.

"OK. Thanks. This was fun," I say with a lame smile as I walk toward his door.

"Yeah, no problem. We should hang out again, maybe rent a DVD or something," he offers politely.

"You know where to find me," I joke.

"Yes, no hiding from me now," he replies with an awkward, forced laugh.

"Good night, Edward," I say as I pull the door open.

"Bye, Bella, sleep well," he answers, gathering up the pillows from the floor.

I gently close the door behind and head back downstairs. My mind is a mess. I feel terribly conflicted. I liked kissing Edward and am truly disappointed that he stopped. Did he not like it or was he just trying to be considerate? What if I did want him as a 'booty call' like Alice and Rose keep suggesting? Was it wrong to want that? I open my laptop. Signing on to Twitter, I tweet my current status.

_**What are you doing?  
**__certain/confused, happy/bummed, excited/disappointed, curious/uninterested…full of contradictions…but he makes me like it that way._

___

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**Dun dun dun! The plot chickens. I mean thickens. The next update will be in EPOV, or as I like to call it, TNGUSPOV. Did I just say there will be EPOV all up in this hizzy? Oh yes, I did, girl. Yes, I did.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I have to once again thank everyone from the bottom of my snarky little heart for all the kind and sweet reviews. Believe me when I say it's just as gratifying to see people enjoying the story as it is to write it in the first place. A lot of you have said that you're looking forward to TNGUSPOV and a "look inside his pretty skull," so without further ado, here it is.**

**Big props to my beta Nina, aka WriteOnTime. She inexplicably always knows what I'm trying to say, even when I don't know myself. She's awesomesauce like that.**

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**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

I let out a long deep breath as I watch the door close behind Bella's…behind.

_Fuck. _

_I've got an erection. _

_Jesus, Cullen. Focus._

I rub the heels of my palms against my eyes, hoping that will clear the libidinous fog that's taken over my brain. I shouldn't have come on to Bella like that and I'm relieved that I had the willpower to stop when I did. Honestly, I like my relationships (if you can even call them that) to be as uncomplicated as possible. And by uncomplicated, I mean free of any sort of emotional entanglements.

Well, not free of emotion per se. Lust is an emotion. So is passion. And I love women. I just love them—their soft skin, round breasts, supple thighs. I love the way they moan softly if I rub or stroke the right spot in just the right way. Hearing my name uttered from the lips of beautiful woman while she climaxes is like music to my ears. Actually, it's better than music. It's the most fucking outstanding sound ever—except, perhaps, for my own grunts and groans right as I pop one off.

_I can't keep this train of thought or I'm going to have to pop one off right now, and I'm all popped out as it is._

The reason why I've been molesting myself like a fifteen year old boy just left my apartment.

I heave a tired sigh as I gather up all the pillows and sheets from my living room floor, putting them back in their proper places. I can't help but smile as I think about the enthusiasm on Bella's face as she set up her little pretend camp site. I admit her innocent playfulness was contagious, and I was envious of her happy memories.

_But I digress._

Why did this awkward little bookworm get under my skin? Honestly, I should've just slept with her. It would have been a very familiar scenario, actually. Random physical encounters are, after all, my specialty. I'm no stranger to fucking strangers, to be blunt. And kissing her was altogether very, very enticing—almost like plucking forbidden fruit from a tree, perhaps not an apple, but rather a cherry.

_I crack myself up sometimes._

But once I began partaking in that ripe little pout of hers, I felt a sort of odd feeling in the pit of stomach.

_Annoying fucking little conscience. You ruin all the fun._

Frankly, taking her would've been fairly easy. She was in a rather susceptible frame of mind, feeling vulnerable because of the storm, yet trusting and comfortable enough to confide in me. And so the flirting just tumbled out of me quite effortlessly and I delighted in her nervous, yet coquettish, banter back at me. Before I knew it, my lips were on hers, but I was mindful to be delicate. Women like Bella—that is, women who badly want sex but hate admitting it, require certain finesse. Oh they'll let you fuck them eventually, in fact, they'll beg you to. But once the fruit is picked and tasted, though, I usually lose my appetite.

I found Bella's rose petal lips to be particularly sweet and intoxicating—and she smelled of chocolates. Oh, how I love the smell of chocolate. It's a natural aphrodisiac. As a teenager I worked in a chocolate shop to earn extra cash. I spent twenty hours a week with a constant erection.

So just when I thought I could capitalize on my current state of arousal and continue seducing Bella, I found myself suddenly backing out. It just felt…_wrong._ It felt like I was taking a rather pretty flower and picking off all its petals, or drawing a cartoon mustache on a priceless portrait. Usually when I set about a conquest, I feel nothing of the sort. In fact, I put a hell of a lot of effort into seduction. I consider it an art form in and of itself, really. I don't just _fuck_ a woman. The challenge and the thrill are derived from making her want me.

_And want me they usually do._

I suppose I've become spoiled. Instead of being the cat that eats the canary, the canaries are now chasing me, it seems. And then I finally come across a bird who's neither interested in chasing or being chased. She'd rather just be _chaste_, I think to myself with a smirk.

I coax myself out of my thoughts and take a seat at my desk. I power on my computer and check my email. One message in particular catches my eye.

_AllThatsJazz is now following you on Twitter!_

I click the link and see that the profile belongs to Jasper Whitlock—a guy I know through a work colleague. Jasper's father, Ephraim Whitlock, is the head of psychiatry at Brigham's. I met Jasper over the summer while he was volunteering at the hospital.

I sign on to my account and type in my status.

_Username: DrWhoHaHa_

_**What are you doing?  
**__Met an old friend for the first time tonight, and for a friend she was a great kisser._

Stifling a yawn, I decide to try and go back to bed. I spend a good hour or so tossing and turning, the feel of Bella's lips on mine never giving me the peace I need to let me fall asleep.

It's Friday night tonight and once again, I've been asked to attend a charity fundraiser for the hospital. It's a standard black-tie dinner event and while I'm not expected to show up to help donate to the hospital, it's common for younger physicians to support these causes in order to impress their bosses, and I am no exception.

When my residency is over, I'd like to be asked on as a permanent member of the OB/GYN staff, sharing a rotation with some very qualified, much esteemed members of my field. It's a competitive place to work and they don't hire every resident that comes through their program. It's essential that I make a better than good impression on Aro Volturri, the chief of staff.

Aro is an easy enough guy to socialize with, and his wife Heidi is pleasant. However, I've been having a really difficult time at these functions—not because of my boss or his wife, but because of who I've been taking to accompany me as a guest.

My 'dates,' as it were, have sadly been lacking, and tonight is no exception.

I'm sitting at a large, elaborately decorated dining table in a banquet hall with Jessica Stanley, my companion for the evening. I met Jessica a few months ago at happy hour at a bar near the hospital. She's a nice enough girl, but frankly the word 'vapid' doesn't even begin to describe this woman's unfortunate personality. She's an administrator at one of the big banks downtown, but her work isn't all that demanding and her hobbies are less than interesting. Sadly, her gift for conversation and social nuance are completely lacking as well.

"Thanks for being able to tag along at the last minute Jessica, I appreciate it," I tell her, hoping that some flattery will help loosen the tension between us a bit.

"Oh, it's my pleasure," she replies with a very inconspicuous wink as she puts her hand on my thigh.

"Hah, yes, very good," I laugh uncomfortably before shifting my leg away. Now is certainly not the time to be flirting, as everyone at the table is quietly beginning to eat their first course and would no doubt notice us.

"You know, I saw there was an empty coat check room over by the door. Maybe I can make my pleasure yours too?" she asks in an agonizingly loud voice, making me cringe as I notice Aro's wife's gaze burning a hole in my forehead.

"That sounds very tempting, but I need to spend the evening with my boss. I want to make a good impression," I try to whisper nonchalantly into Jessica's ear.

"Oh. We're not, you know?" she asks, eyes wide and expectant.

"No, not right now," I answer incredulously.

"Really?" she asks again, needing clarification for some inexplicable reason.

"Yes, really. I need to sit here with my boss and chat with him and his lovely wife," I explain, as though I'm talking to a child.

"The whole night?" she needs to ask for a third time.

"Yes, Jessica, the whole night," I nod with a plastered on smile. I'm getting paranoid that people may be staring at us.

"What we are supposed to do?"

"Talk, dance, enjoy each other company," I offer, unable to fathom how she could be so unclear on all this.

"Well this is a first, I know that much," she says with a sigh.

"A first how?" I ask. Now I'm the one who's confused.

"This is the first time I've ever spent time with you that didn't involve sex. This is like a date. We've never been on a date," she explains, seemingly perplexed.

"Oh this isn't date. No. Not a date," I say quickly. I feel panicked for some reason.

"Excuse me?" she shoots back, looking at me with a furrowed brow and a sharp stare.

"I just mean that this is, you know, for my work. It's social but really a career thing. And I, um, don't date," I answer awkwardly, desperate to back peddle before this all goes to hell in a hand basket.

"Oh there is that detail, huh? Edward, what am I doing here?" she ponders out loud, clearly miffed.

"Doing me a favor?" I offer pathetically with a weak smile.

"For what?"

"To be nice?"

"This was probably a bad idea," she says in a bored voice, rolling her eyes and playing with the swizzle stick in her drink.

"Just spending a couple of hours with me is a bad idea?" I ask, rubbing my temple with my fingertips.

"It is when it's a non-date with a booty call that isn't," she tells me, clearly getting annoyed now.

"Fair enough," I sigh. "Can I get you another drink?" I ask, badly wanting to get up and take a walk to clear my head.

"I guess. What's on the menu here? Is there lobster?" she asks as she drums her fingers against the table, looking unbearably bored.

Two agonizing hours later, I manage to shuffle Jessica away from dinner and the curious gazes of the other diners at our table. I make excuses as to why we need to leave so quickly following dessert. I tell my date and everyone else that I've come down with a splitting migraine—it's a lie, of course. I just need to get the hell out of there before Heidi tries to make conversation with Jessica and realizes that my dinner guest has the IQ and personality of a doorknob.

I climb the stairs to the brownstone, thankful to have ended the evening relatively unscathed when I run into Bella fumbling through her backpack, presumably fishing for her keys.

"Need me to keep the door open?" I offer, propping the lobby door open with my foot.

"Oh, hey, Edward," she says with a smile, "yes, thanks. My keys are in here somewhere," she adds, looking adorably disorganized as usual.

"You're out late," I say, "going to parties with your textbooks?" I tease. She rolls her eyes at me and purses her pretty red lips.

"No, wise guy. I'm just coming back from the library. I was working on my thesis," she explains as she heaves her backpack onto the floor in front of her doorstep.

"Ah, more erotic poetry?" I tease.

"Yes, your nosiness. More erotic poetry," she confirms with mild chagrin. Her chagrin is actually sort of cute, I hate to admit.

"Did you write me any?" I flirt.

"You wish!" she puffs as she pushes my shoulder lightly. All of a sudden, I wish she'd touch me like that all the time—innocent, playful shoves that mean nothing and everything both at the same time.

"How about you recite it and I'll write it down? I have beautiful handwriting for a doctor. Loan me your canvas and I'll decorate it for you," I suggest with a quirk of my eyebrow and a smug smile.

"God, Edward. Can you ever just talk to a girl?" she retorts, eyes like slits and arms crossed against her chest.

"I'm talking to you now, aren't I?" I say, very consciously trying to get on her nerves.

"You know what I mean."

"Of course I do. But I enjoy toying with you."

"I'm not your toy. I'm not anyone's toy," she says with heavy consternation.

"Shame, really. Toys are fun," I inform her as I lick my lips.

"Can I go inside now?" she asks in surrender.

"By all means."

"Good night, Edward," she tells me, almost making her way through her half-opened door.

"But…wait," I say quickly, stopping her. "Come upstairs and have a glass of wine with me. It's not even midnight," I offer eagerly.

"Um, OK. Let me just put my pack inside and I'll be right up," she assents with a small smile.

We're sitting on my couch sharing a bottle of red wine when I notice just how lovely she is. I don't mean that she's a bombshell who's oozing with sex, or a waif-thin supermodel with otherworldly beauty. Bella just has a simple, natural, honest loveliness to her, and the fact that it's only just occurred to me know is a little ludicrous because I pride myself on noticing exceptional women.

I guess at the heart of it, Bella is, despite my best efforts, becoming a real and complete person to me. I will admit that most members of the opposite sex, no matter how intimate I've become with them physically, never really become distinct people in my mind. Over the years, they've formed something of a bizarre composite, totaling a large group of conquests with not one of them sticking out in my memory in any distinct way. I'm not sure what's more worrisome—the fact that this has happened to me at all, or the fact that I am now only realizing it.

Not to mention, I'm oddly alarmed that I've come across a woman who's slowly breaking me of this habit. And by all accounts, she's completely unaware that she's doing it. Perhaps that's part of the appeal.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asks softly.

"Hmm?" I ask back, snapping back into the present moment. I look over at her face and notice that she looks thoughtful, but also happy. She breaks into a light giggle.

"You looked asleep with your eyes open. That must've been some daydream," she says tells me, her head tilted to the side.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you or anything," I reply nervously, hoping I didn't offend her.

"No, no," she assures me with a sweet smile and a wave of her soft, small hand. "I do stuff like that all the time. I live in my own dream land—used to drive my teachers crazy," she admits sheepishly. Somehow it seems so very fitting that Bella would be the type of person to slip quietly into her own imagination. I think she prefers her own world to the one she really lives in.

"Is it better than this place?" I ask.

"What?" she asks back, slightly confused by my seemingly random question.

"Your 'dream land,' as you call it—is it nicer than real life?" I ask, half curious, half teasing. I'm overwhelmed by the sudden urge to know how exactly her mind works. It's oddly fascinating, yet…I have to wonder why I'd care.

"You're making fun of me, but fine. I'll answer you," she says with annoyed resignation. "Of course it's nicer than real life, Edward. It wouldn't be called a day 'dream,' if it wasn't a nice place," she points out.

"That's not always the case—plenty of people daydream about all sorts of unpleasant things, surely?" I question.

She looks thoughtful for a moment. And then her expression changes to something that I could swear makes her look like a _vixen._

"They've never lived in my brain," she says with a satisfied smirk. She blushes almost immediately, as if she'd uttered this suggestive remark against her better judgment.

I don't have any words because they've all escaped me. Her little quip is so laden with sexual innuendo that I just stare at her with my mouth hanging open and my dick suddenly rising to the occasion, as it were. Normally something so subtle and said so innocently wouldn't even elicit a second thought from me, but it's so unexpected—it's a complete non sequitur, really, especially considering who said it. Bella isn't the type of person I'd expect to make a flirtatious remark without being first enticed somehow. So right now I'm feeling both confused but incredibly aroused.

"Really?" I say in a low voice, raising an eyebrow at her. "And what exactly goes on in that pretty little head of yours, brown eyes?"

"Nothing," she answers quickly, clearly flustered. "I mean, not _nothing_, there is something, it's just not what you think," she explains hastily. She blinks her beautiful eyes at me several times and coughs nervously.

"Relax, I'm teasing you," I tell her. "I've had a pretty stressful night and you're helping to improve my mood," I add with a smile.

"Oh," she says plainly, looking at me with curiosity, "do you always wear a fancy suit just to get stressed out?" It's her turn to tease, apparently.

"Why yes, I always wear my best Calvin Klein tux when I'm in the mood to be completely short-tempered and frustrated," I respond with a laugh.

"Well, you know what they say—every girl's crazy about a sharp dressed grouch," she jokes, reclining herself into the sofa and stretching her feet to rest them on the coffee table next to mine.

I let my head fall back and laugh heartily, appreciating her earnest attempts at lifting my spirits. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was beginning to enjoy poking fun at me and not trying to be so serious with me all the time. I'd venture a guess at this point that Bella might very well like being in the same room as me.

This makes me think of an idea.

"Say, brown—I mean, Bella," I say, stopping myself from calling her by the nickname that I don't think she's as fond of as I am. "I have a favor to ask, and feel free to turn me down, it's perfectly OK if you do," I tell her sincerely.

"A favor?" she replies, eyeing me warily and looking slightly on-edge. "What kind of favor?"

"Well, I don't quite know how to explain this without it sounding awkward, so here goes. I need a date. Several of them, actually," I explain uncomfortably.

Bella seems to find this very humorous, because the first thing she does, instead of answering me, is snort really loudly.

"_You_ need a date? Is this a joke?" she asks, rolling her eyes at me.

"No, not a joke. I really do need a date. I have these work events I need to go to," I begin. "And, I guess I could go by myself but my colleagues all show up with their spouses, so it just makes sense to bring a date—so everyone has someone to make conversation with," I explain.

"OK, well, that still doesn't explain why you need _me_ to go with you—that is what you're getting at, right? You're asking me to be your guest at these work functions?" she presses, looking at me incredulously.

"Um, yeah. I'm asking you to be my date for these work parties," I say simply before clearing my throat and feeling like an idiot. "Believe it or not, I don't know very many women who can hold an intelligent conversation and appreciate the diplomatic social graces a person needs to show in a professional environment, like a work party." I confess.

"What you mean is, you don't know any smart, classy women who won't embarrass you in front of your boss?" she clarifies quite succinctly.

"That's precisely what I mean, Bella," I concede with a defeated sigh. She has me dead to rights, there's no use arguing.

"OK, Edward," she says simply.

"OK? You'll go with me?" I ask sitting up and looking at her, a little shocked that she's taking me up on this.

"Yeah, I'll go," she confirms with a shrug of her shoulder. "As long as I don't have an exam the next morning or something really pressing," she adds.

"No, of course not," I agree. "Wow, thanks, Bella. This is really great of you. I appreciate it," I offer. "You certainly weren't obligated in any way to say yes."

"Well, sure I was, Edward," she tells me with a light smile. "I'm obligated to do you a favor, aren't I?"

"You are?"

"Sure I am—if I'm your friend, of course I'll do you a favor," she says.

I turn to face her and look at her profile, her soft features accentuated in the dim glow of the late night's moon. I think I see now what makes her so pretty—it comes from inside her, and it makes the outside all that much more captivating to me.

"Thank you, again. I really do need to bring someone who can chat with my boss's wife," I tell her. "If there's anything I can do for you in return, let me know, OK?" I'm not entirely sure what I could do for her, but I feel I should at least offer.

"Um, OK," she replies with a nod. "I don't think there is, but thanks," she says with a smile.

We drink the rest of the wine and talk for a while longer, making conversation about everything, yet nothing in particular. When her eyes scrunch shut as her mouth forms a pretty little 'o' to yawn, I feel oddly responsible for her and gently urge her to go downstairs and go to sleep.

Normally, I would've taken her mild sleepiness as a cue to make coffee before offering a nice neck massage—always the perfect segue for heavy petting and some nice fondling before peeling a woman's clothes off.

But I just can't summon the urge to do my usual routine. Instead, I give her a light pat on the back and friendly smile, like I did after kissing her the last time she was in my apartment.

"Good night, Bella, sleep well," I tell her.

"Bye, Edward," she replies softly.

She almost looks sad as I shut the door lightly behind her and I wonder if it was something I said. I rub my eyes and take off my suit to get ready for bed. I decide to check my email one last time before going to sleep. Powering up my computer, I log on to Twitter, curious to see if I have any tweets.

_**AllThatsJazz**__ DrWhoHaHa Hey! Cool, ur following me. Don't tell my Dad I'm on Twitter, he'll embarrass the hell out of me. Thx._

I click on Jasper's username and see all the other tweets he's sent back and forth.

_**AllThatsJazz**__ BadKittyKillKill I wonder if this neighbor dude of yours knows you tweet about him all day. You naughty minx! Kidding. ;o)_

Curious, I click on this 'BadKitty' person's name and seeing the profile that it belongs to almost makes my eyes pop out of their sockets.

_Name.....Bella Swan  
Loc........Cambridge, MA  
Web.......harvard..edu/iswan  
Bio.........Senior majoring in English/CrtvWrtg lk 2 read, hang w friends, write poems/stories. 'B the change u want 2 c in the world.' – Ghandi_

Her most recent tweets are from about twenty minutes ago.

_**BadKittyKillKill**__ Am v confused. Wildly attracted 2 TNGUS. He wants 2 date yet acts like I don't own a vagina. Strange cos he's a gyn and should know better._

_**BadKittyKillKill**__ JustAskAlice IDK y I said yes 2 going to work parties w him. Im lying. I do know y. Im st0000pid and h0rny. TNGUS IS BAD 4 KITTY'S…PUSSY?_

A million thoughts rush through my head at once. But there's one question that immediately reverberates through my brain.

_TNGUS? Why the fuck does she call me TNGUS?_

_

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_

**Oh shiz! Oh double shiz! Bella Brown Eyes been done BUSTED! Umm, ooops. But talk about mixed signals—this isn't gonna make life easy for Nakedward. Not like he doesn't deserve it, that butthead. Thanks for reading and stay tuned. :mwah:**

**P.S. Sorry for all the typos. I didn't save the corrections I made at 4am last night, so I'm redoing them as I catch them. DOH! :op**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Well things are moving right along with Nakedward and Bella Brown Eyes. She's graciously agreed to accompany him to work-related social functions, and I think she may be in need of some **_**quid pro quo**_** as they say. Oh and as usual, there was some drunk tweeting.**

**Thank you for your very sweet reviews. I read each one, sigh, and wonder how much you all must drink before you read my updates. ;op Seriously, I really appreciate all the positive feedback.**

**Much love and gratitude to Nina aka WriteOnTime, friend, beta, and inducer of ass-blushing.**

* * *

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

I'm anxiously chewing on the hang nail on the side of my thumb when I feel a small but very strong hand smack my finger away from my mouth with a loud _crack_.

"Jesus, Alice!" I snap as a shake my hand, willing it to stop stinging.

"Would you stop being so nervous? You're going to a cocktail party, not a job interview for shit's sake, Bella," she huffs at me.

I feel something hit the side of my head and when I look in the direction it came from, I see Rose aiming a pair of g-string panties at me like she's using her index finger and thumb as a sling-shot. Another piece of flimsy elasticized fabric whizzes through the air and barely grazes my forehead. Rose laughs like this is the funniest thing she's ever done.

We're at the Copley Place mall looking for things for me to wear to these work parties with Edward. I own a few nice dresses, but nothing formal. A lot of these events are pretty fancy and I'd need to wear something more elegant than a peasant skirt.

"I hate going shopping with you bitches, swear to God!" I spit, turning on my heel and marching toward the exit of Victoria's Secret.

"Oh, don't be like that," Alice urges, tugging my arm to stop me from leaving the store. "We're just trying to get you to calm down a little," she explains with a smile.

"Seriously, Bella, you are wound up tighter than a virgin on prom night," Rose teases.

"At least the prom part is wrong," I mumble as I resume chewing my finger.

"Why are you so worked up, anyway?" Alice asks.

"God, I don't know," I sigh. "I'm conflicted, I guess," I add with a shrug.

"Conflicted about going out with him, or conflicted about him in general?" Rose asks, looking as if she already knows the answer. She'd make the world's worst therapist. She clearly only has 'deep conversation' out of obligation and not because she's interested in helping you solve your problems. If there's an opposite to 'touchy-feely,' Rose Hale is it.

"Conflicted about everything. It's all just weird. I can't even explain it," I try to say, but I just want to get this shopping done and go home.

"Don't sweat it, Bella. If you guys are just friends, then whatever. Go with him, eat your fancy $200-a-plate rubber chicken, drink some Cosmos, and go home," Alice advises. "But I'd have sex with him after the 'go home' part. Just so you know," she adds with a laugh.

"Yes, I do know. Because _some people_ have dick on the brain. Like that news radio station. '10-10 SEKS, All Cock, All the Time…'"

"'You give us 22 minutes, we'll give you an O?'" Alice quips back, tilting her head.

"Yep, that's you two cum dumpsters," I reply, rolling my eyes.

We head over to Barney's, which is way out of my price range, but apparently Edward's grandmother has had an account there since the dawn of time or something. He called ahead and told them to expect me. I felt weird when he told me about it. I'm not comfortable accepting expensive things from him, but when he explained that this was all part of me doing him a favor and that I shouldn't have to pay out of my own pocket, I saw the logic in the point he was trying to make. And seriously, some of these dresses are really beautiful. I'd be crazy not to want to wear them. I pick out a few simple, yet pretty, cocktail dresses along with a couple of pairs of shoes and a handbag.

When Edward asked me to be his 'date,' I agreed without really putting much thought into it. At the time, it didn't seem like too big a deal. All I'd be doing is having dinner and chatting with some people I'd never run into in any other circles. I'm not shy in situations like that—I enjoy good food and good conversation with intelligent, friendly people.

But now, as this arrangement goes from being an idea to actually happening, I'm becoming inexplicably nervous. It doesn't really help that Edward's been acting really peculiar lately. In fact, ever since the night he asked me to go with him to his work parties, it's felt like he's either been avoiding me or just plain being weird. He's always got this expression on his face like I've walked in on him in the bathroom or something. It's not like him at all to look embarrassed or awkward. I try to convince myself that I'm imagining things, but when he asks me out to a dinner party via _post-it note_ stuck to my door, I don't know what to think any more.

_Hi Brown Eyes,  
There's a party at the Gardner museum on Friday. Pick you up at 8? Cocktail attire.  
Thanks, Edward_

I also begin notice a pattern in Edward's work schedule. Every few days during the week, we usually both make our way home around the dinner hour. I also notice that whenever I see him then, he looks tired despite his charming little smirks and perfectly mussed hair.

I run into him one Tuesday evening, and I can't help but feel a little relieved because he doesn't look so uncomfortable to see me—just really fatigued.

"Hey, you should come by if you're hungry," I offer as we head into the brownstone together. "I'm just making some Panini and soup tonight if you're interested," I add. I look at the bags under his eyes and his scruffy whiskers and hope that a little food might perk him up.

"That sounds like exactly what I need right now," he says with a sigh.

I usher him inside my apartment where he practically collapses on my couch. Going into the kitchen, I quickly get dinner started and come back to the living room where I'm about to offer Edward a drink, but he's fast asleep sitting up.

_Ugh. I just want to rest his tired, arrogant, sweet, smug head on my bosom. God, that sounds perverted. And more than a little sexy._

I pat his shoulder lightly, rousing him gently. His green eyes are terribly bloodshot and I just want to hug the bastard.

"Sorry for waking you. Dinner is almost ready. Are you thirsty? I have water, soda, beer," I offer in a soft voice. He asks for a glass of ice water and I bring it to him right after I get stuff going on the stove.

"You look so tired; you're not coming down with something, are you?" I ask despite trying not to sound like his mom.

"No, it's just that I work 36 hour shifts that start Monday morning and don't end until about half an hour ago," he explains. "I think the last meal I ate was a Snickers bar around ten this morning, but even that I didn't get to finish. I dropped it when one of my patients broke her water on me."

"She broke her what?" I repeat, feeling slightly confused.

"She was in labor. Her water broke when I was trying to help her lay down," he explains.

"_You_…deliver babies?" I try not to sound shocked, but I am. He laughs.

"Bella, I'm a gynecologist. Assisting with anything that comes out of a vagina is within the purview of my job description," he jokes.

"You're unbearably charming sometimes, Edward," I deadpan.

"They are kinda cute actually."

"The vaginas?" I snort.

"Ha, ha," he says with a distinct lack of amusement. "No, the babies."

"I know. I'm just being a goober," I answer, shaking my head. "So, did something in fact come out of said patient?"

"Yes, a six pound girl. I nicknamed her 'peanut' after my candy bar. The mom thought it was funny."

_Did you have to go there with the adorable peanut babies and giving them cute little nicknames? My reproductive organs can't take much more of you._

"That's really sweet—the baby and the nickname and all that," I admit, completely against my will, but my mouth betrays me. "The hours sound grueling though."

"Well, it's a really long shift but it's not always this hectic. It just depends on how many women end up in Labor and Delivery on my rotation. Normally, I can get in some decent sleep and long enough breaks to have a couple of actual meals but this shift was unusually busy."

I hand him his sandwich and bowl of soup where he sits on the couch. I don't have the heart to ask him to get up and sit at the table. He just looks too exhausted. After using what looks like the very last bit of his energy eating, he sets his plate down on the coffee table and stretches his long legs out along the length of the couch. He's asleep again within seconds.

_Poor tired dude. God, why are you so freaking irresistible—all sleepy eyes and wrinkled up scrubs and hair every which way? Just cut that shit out. I'm trying not to crush on you and only think dirty thoughts when I'm drunk tweeting._

I return to the living room after cleaning up the kitchen and putting our dinner dishes away. Edward hasn't moved since I last looked at him. His lips form the sweetest little pout despite his serious, knitted brows. He must be dreaming, but of what, I couldn't say.

Sighing lightly, I walk over to him. I gently unlace his running shoes, pulling them off his feet carefully so that I don't disturb him. He takes a deep breath and I could swear I've roused him when he starts mumbling something.

_Oh shit. Shut up, Edward. Just. Shut. Up._

"Hmm, yeahhh," he mutters, "c'mere, browneyes…gotsumthingforyou…bah..keeee," he says in one long breath, complete with evil little sleepy laugh. I can't really make out the low groany syllables at the end of that, but I don't think I want to, either.

But then it gets so, so much worse.

_Oh God. Please. No. Don't._

His hand moves from under his chin, to his chest, and then down his torso…slowly, so agonizingly slowly…my eyes are starting to sting and tear up because the sight of this is too much for me. His hand continues to inch lower, until it finally stops…right at his crotch. And then there's cuppage.

_Cuppage. Of the crotch._

He moans audibly. My mouth dries up, like it's full of cotton wool. My heart feels like it's beating a mile a minute. I can't tear my eyes away from the sight of Edward's little display of somnolent masturbation. His hand starts moving against what his flimsy scrubs cannot possibly obscure—the very clear, very aggressively protuberant outline of his _excitement_.

_Please Christ, kill me know. But let me die with the image of TNGUS's hard-on burned permanently into my retinas._

I try to think coherently for a moment. Edward is very asleep and very much playing with himself on my couch. If I were doing what he's doing now, I would want to be woken up, for sure. But he looks so exhausted. Not to mention, if I do wake him, he'll stop what he's doing but it won't spare him any embarrassment because..._shit fuck, look at the size of that boner, for crying out loud!_

I realize there's only one course of action for me to take and I need to just go for it—like ripping off a Band-aid. I have to just swoop in and do what needs to be done.

I lean over his tall, horizontal frame and gingerly wrap my hand around his wrist. Just as I'm about to lift his hand away from his…happy place, his eyes snap open and his other hand grabs mine, making a weird sort of palm sandwich sprawled against his crotch.

_It figures you'd wake up the instant someone is anywhere near your man parts. I think Edward has some kind of crotch radar._

_Dickdar?_

He growls at me and my eyes go like saucers and I very loudly suck in so much air that my lungs actually burn. It dawns on me now that this might look to him as if I'm not so much taking his hand _off_ his dick as I am _putting_ it there.

_Want. To. Die. Now. Please._

"If you wanted to play, brown eyes, you didn't have to take advantage of me while I'm asleep," he snarls. "At least have the decency to do it when I'm awake and can enjoy it too."

He looks oddly menacing but in a completely erotic, hot, delectable way and I want to roll my eyes and yell at him to quit being a pervert but I'm just frozen in my tracks. He applies just the slightest bit of tugging to my hand and that's all it takes to make me tip over and fall on him. My body is good at mimicking my resolve.

"I wasn't…" I whisper.

"What were you, then?"

"I…you…no words?" I babble incoherently, the last bit coming out like a question. My brain is evidently asking his permission to be allowed to function again.

I'm lying on top of him, my legs between his. He wraps his calves over mine and puts both his large hands on my shoulders, essentially pinning me to him. I swallow heavily when I feel his hot breath on my face. His juicy bottom lip just begs to be nibbled.

I hate how he does this to me—makes my mind go completely blank and my morals go AWOL. I imagine a milk carton with the words 'HAVE YOU SEEN ME?' in big bolded text, with a picture of Jiminy Cricket underneath. There's a speech bubble next to his mouth that says 'I'm Bella's conscience, pride, and sense of self-respect, and I just don't give a shit anymore!'

_I want to suffocate you, Edward Cullen. With my lips._

"You need to let go," I say in a hoarse voice. It comes out more like I'm begging than telling him.

"No. I like you like this."

"You like forcing me to be close to you?" I ask as I try to push myself off of him, but he grabs both my wrists in his hands.

"No, I just like you close to me," he confesses with no shame at all.

"Then wait for me to do it when I want to."

"How long will that take?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"I don't know, Edward. It just depends."

"What kind of answer is that?"

"I can't give a simple answer to a question no one's ever asked before."

"No one's ever asked…_this_ of you?"

"Don't say it like it's hard to believe. I keep myself…to myself. You must know that by now."

"You don't seem that way to me. You're like that daisy—the one that opens all at once—it's got a girl's name, what's it called?"

"A _black eyed Susan_?"

"Yeah. Only you're a brown-eyed Bella."

"Edward," I sigh.

"What?" he says with a smirk.

"You should still let me go," I protest in a very ineffectual, soft whisper.

"Are you going out with me on Friday night?"

"I said I would, didn't I?"

"I'm just making sure you didn't change your mind," he says with a slight mope.

"No, I didn't. But you need to go upstairs," I remind him. Maybe if I say it enough, I'll believe it, too.

"Buzz kill," he counters, sticking his pointy, evil-yet-sinfully-delicious-looking tongue out at me.

"Shut up and let me go," I sing in my best imitation of the Ting Tings.

"God, your voice is like a cat drowning," he says with a chuckle.

"Gee, thanks," I mutter, screwing up my face at him.

"Any time, brown eyes."

"Listen, Edward. Come by whenever you're hungry, but please, nap in your own bed, OK?"

"Trust me, brown eyes, if I had my way, I'd do a lot more than just sleep in your bed."

"Ugh! Let go of me already!"

"What? Come on, don't be like that. I just caught you with your hand on my crotch."

"No, you caught me with my hand on your hand on your crotch."

"One degree of separation between you and my genitals is good enough for government work."

"Are you leaving yet? Because I have a class in about fourteen hours."

"If I leave will you promise to wake me up like that all the time? I can use you as an alarm clock—a cock alarm."

"Yeah, your cock will be alarmed alright—in about ten seconds when I knee you in the nadgers."

He laughs like a demon before flipping us over so fast, I don't have a chance to fight him or knee him in the nadgers or anything. All I can muster are squeaky little 'hmphs' of protest that I'm sure sound especially like I'm pretending not to be thoroughly enjoying myself. Which I'm not. Pretending, that is. Not to enjoy myself. I mean, I'm not enjoying myself. I think. I venture to guess?

_Give it up, Swan._

"Oh I like this couch," Edward says in a teasing, sing-song voice. "So soft. It even smells nice," he adds, his nose against my neck. I can hear the blood coursing in my ears as a blaze of heat instantly consumes my face. _Motherfucker is making me blush and I didn't even do anything._

"Smell nice?" I whisper.

"Yes, you smell like chocolate, and I love chocolate. Maybe you can let me…eat some," he purrs into my skin. The words caress my ear like the fluff from a dandelion. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up and I can feel other parts of my body reacting as well, even though I will it all to shut up and move along because there's nothing to see here.

"It's cocoa butter lotion," I inform him nervously.

"It's lovely," he murmurs. He puts his hands on either side of my face so that I have to look at him. I try for a minute but then I close my eyes.

He's on top of me, weighing me down, quite literally. But figuratively, Edward could very well be the albatross around my neck. Or he could be what keeps me grounded in real life—forces me to interact with the world instead of staying cooped up on my own head, writing literary criticism and depressing, marginally readable poetry.

Then again, Edward is like the junk food of dating. You know he's going to be delicious and decadent. You know the experience will be unforgettable and be so, so yummy. But will it be worth the guilt afterward? Will I be able to look at myself in the mirror and not see something I don't like?

_Sorry TNGUS, but you're the cottage cheese thighs of my soul._

I feel his head become heavier and heavier against my collarbone and I quickly realize that he's fallen back asleep. This is even worse than before because while it isn't quite as mortifying, now I'm stuck underneath him. I feel that same ridiculous 'problem' surging—the one that got me into this absurd predicament to start with—pressing on my leg.

_So tempted to just yank that thing off him._

After a few minutes of futile wriggling to try and get up, I resign myself to the fact that I'm stuck under Edward—under his body and his spell. I close my eyes and let myself relax as much as possible, given my proximity to TNGUS. I let his warmth and steady breathing lull me and soon, I too, am asleep.

I wake up some time later feeling a lot less encumbered, weighed down only by a throw blanket. I look around my dimly lit apartment and see that Edward is gone. He must have woken up and left for his own place. I sit up slowly, stretching as I go, and notice a note on the coffee table in front of me.

_Last night I saw upon the stair__  
__A little brown eyed Bella who wasn't there__  
__She wasn't there again today__  
__Oh, how I wish she'd never go away_

I smile when I read his variation of _Antigonish_ by Mearns. TNGUS thinks he's pretty smooth—writing me cute little poems and comparing me to brightly blooming daisies and telling tales about peanut babies he helps bring into the world and making me think he's not such an incorrigible asshole.

_It's working. Grrr._

I want to crumple up his little note but I can't. I get up to throw it in the trash but my feet take a detour and instead I find my traitorous hands easing the little slip of paper into one of my thick poetry anthologies on the bookshelf.

I get on my laptop and update my Twitter status.

_**What are you doing?  
**__Silly Bella, __a dick's still a dick even when the wit's quick__._

On Friday evening, I nervously pace around my apartment, checking and re-checking my hair and make up. I feel like an idiot getting so worked up, but things between Edward and I have been so screwy lately. Since the other night when we had that 'incident' involving his nap on my couch, we see each other briefly in passing, but we both seem to blow hot and cold with one another. Sometimes it feels like the sight of him is the highlight of my day, other times his scowl looks scarier than anything except for the scowl I make right back at him.

So when I hear him softly rap his knuckles against my door, my pulse just automatically quickens and I need to catch my breath. I smooth the front of my dress for the thousandth time before opening the door.

"Hi," I breathe out awkwardly. I can't really speak because the sight of him is just kicking my ass right now—perfectly tailored soft brown-colored suit with a contrasting-striped tie. I usually never pay much attention to what people wear but this is ridiculous. I mean come on, now.

_You know the expression 'the clothes make the man?' Not so with Edward Cullen. He makes the clothes look better with him in them._

"Hi," he says back. His hand rubs the back of his neck, and he looks at me expectantly. If I didn't know better, I'd think he felt just as nervous as I did. I shake the feeling off and chalk it up as simply not being able to think straight at the moment.

"Uh, should we go?" I ask.

"Yeah, I already brought my car around. After you," he replies, motioning me to walk ahead and pulling my door closed, causing the deadbolt to softly click into place.

"This isn't your car," I say, looking curiously at the tiny little British sports car that emits a short beep as Edward aims a remote at it.

"Sure it is," he says with a smile. "It's one of them, anyway," he adds with a smirk.

"Oh. I've only ever seen you with that Volvo."

"That's my work car. This is my fun car."

"Wow. I only have an invisible car that's oddly shaped like the feet at the end of my legs," I joke. "There's my truck in Phoenix, but it wouldn't survive the drive here, let alone all the 'stop and go' street traffic," I explain.

He opens my door for me and I feel like one of those Bond girl floozies. I've never actually sat in an Aston Martin before. It's really nice—and it's just really fitting that Edward drives one of these. It screams 'pussymobile.'

We arrive at the reception at exactly the right time, as the guests are just now being seated. Edward introduces me to his boss, Dr. Vulturri, and his boss's wife, Heidi, along with a few other people he works with at the hospital. They're all very warm and easy going, and our dinner conversation just flows really smoothly from one subject to the next.

I hate to admit it, but Edward's a complete and utter gentlemen throughout our entire meal, asking me if he can bring me another drink, standing up to pull out my chair when I get up and come back from the ladies room. I almost feel guilty over how surprised I am. I obviously had him sized up wrong if his being considerate is this much of a shock to me.

Once dessert and coffee are served, the band goes from playing light background music to selections meant for couples to get up and dance to. People begin to pair off, the food and alcohol obviously providing just the right mood.

"Shall we?" Edward asks with a smirk, gesturing his hand toward the dance floor.

"I…uh…you've seen how clumsy I am," I reply meekly.

"Brown eyes," he says softly, leaning into my ear, "dancing is vertical sex. You let me lead and I assure you, you'll forget you even have limbs," he coos.

I just look at him and blink a bunch of times. When he stands up and tugs my hand toward him, I can't fight it. I just get up and walk with him toward the center of the dance floor.

He pulls me close to him, his hand on the small of my back. I rest my own on the top of his shoulder while we clasp our other hands together loosely.

"That's it, just follow me," he says with a smile. "I won't let you get tangled up," he adds, oozing with the kind of charm that makes my blood boil.

"Yeah, I bet you'd be the last person I'd tangle with," I say sarcastically. As usual, instead of getting mad at me, he just laughs.

"I love it when you're feisty, brown eyes," he teases.

"You just love getting under my skin,"

"I want to get under a lot of things."

"When are you _not_ hitting on me?"

"Fine," he laughs, "let's talk about the weather or politics or the stock market," he suggests jokingly.

"Somehow it would all just come back to you and how you just want to sex me up," I snort, rolling my eyes. He laughs a really loud hearty guffaw at that and I just want to slap him.

"_Sex you up?_ What is this, 1991? Color Me Baddly embarrassed for you, brown eyes."

I should be angry at him for poking fun at me but it just won't stick. Instead, I laugh right along with him. The butterflies in my stomach that billow out of my chest as he twirls me around and makes my head spin erase all the bad, hard feelings—they chase away all the misgivings, all the distrust, all nagging little voices in the back of my mind.

Edward walks me back to the table before going to get me a small after dinner aperitif. I smile when Heidi comes over and takes Edward's seat momentarily.

"I have to say, Bella, it's nice to finally see Edward with a suitable girlfriend," she says with a smile. Her blue eyes glow as she looks at me.

I don't know what to say. I'm afraid if I correct her, I'll have to explain that Edward couldn't manage to find an actual date that wouldn't embarrass him, and that would just make him look terrible. Then again, I also don't want to mislead her by letting her think something that isn't true.

"You know," she continues, "seeing the two of you reminds me so much of when Aro and I were young. There was always a kind of tension between us on the surface, but the attraction, oh goodness, it was so strong. We could fight with each other, but we couldn't fight the pull between us—no way," she explains wistfully.

I'm glad I didn't say anything because it appears Heidi understands more than I give her credit for. I want to agree with her but Edward returns with my liqueur, and so Heidi simply gives me a knowing wink and goes back to her seat next to her husband.

"What was that about?" he asks.

"Eh, just girl talk," I say with a smirk. "Seriously, nothing. She's a really sweet woman. I enjoyed her company," I add sincerely.

"So, you had an OK night?" he asks, clearly looking for confirmation.

"Yeah, it was 'OK,' I guess," I tease with a straight face. He looks so adorable panicked. I decide to let him off the hook. "Well, I _did_ have to put up with you, didn't I?" I add before sticking my tongue out. I sip the rest of my drink and try to suppress a laugh.

"Gah!" he huffs, putting his hands over his heart and pretending to keel over into his glass of scotch.

Heidi and Aro are looking at us and chuckling. I point at Edward and mouth 'can you believe him?' as I screw up my face and scoff playfully. His eyes go wide in feigned horror before he grabs my hand with the pointing finger and kisses the back of it. He gives me that insane smirk and instead of turning my head away in disgust like a sensible girl would, I just smile back.

"Edward," Aro says. "I think your charming dinner companion should be getting home, don't you?" he asks, throwing a hint large enough to require its own zip code.

_Et tu, Aro? Is there anyone here who doesn't think Edward and I should bump uglies? Yeah, I didn't think so._

"As a matter of fact, Aro, I couldn't agree more," Edward answers with a smile, his eyes on me the entire time.

A few minutes later, the valet brings the pussymobile around and we're on our way back to our little brownstone near Harvard Square.

"This car—it's the ultimate chick magnet. All that's missing is a vanity plate that says 'IC VAJ' on it," I tease.

"Very funny, brown eyes," he replies, shaking his head at me.

"Have you ever had sex in this thing?" I ask—well, I blurt, really. I don't know what comes over me exactly. I just feel like pushing his buttons, since he pushes mine so easily. For some insane reason, I really begin to wonder if Edward actually has such a thing as 'personal space' when it comes to information about his private life.

"What?" he says, he body visibly jumping, as if he's been startled.

"Sex, have you ever had sex in your car?" I ask again, a little more adamantly this time.

He just laughs nervously and shifts around in his seat like he's very uncomfortable suddenly.

"Edward, I swear, I just don't get you," I say, feeling really stupid and shaking my head.

"Why? What did I do?" he asks, looking mildly alarmed, like he doesn't understand what's going on.

"Well, you make all kinds of blatant sexual comments to me. But then when I do it, you're all nervous and squirming. Why is OK for you to embarrass me but the reverse isn't?" I ask, the annoyance in my voice clear.

"Bella," he sighs, running his hand through his hair. "It's not that you're embarrassing me…" he replies, trying to deny it. I don't believe him.

"Then why are you reacting all weird? Why are you kissing me one minute and then patting my arm like you're sorry you did it?" I press, getting to the heart of this nonsense one way or another. That last question got him to turn his head to look at me, his face looking even more dumbfounded.

"Because…I…" he stammers.

"Just forget it," I snap, feeling so embarrassed and idiotic, I almost want to cry.

"No, there is a reason. I don't want to take advantage of you. I want to be your friend. I like you. No, it's more than that—I respect you. I'm trying not to think of you _like that_," he explains, half watching the road as he drives, half watching my face.

"What's wrong with _like that_? Am I that repulsive?" I ask, horrified.

"What?" he exclaims. "God! Of course not! If you were, I wouldn't have trouble keeping my thoughts…clean. Jesus."

"Maybe I don't want you to be…clean," I force myself to say.

"Don't say stuff like that, please," he says, practically pleading. I have to admit, making him all clammy and uncomfortable gives me an odd kind of satisfaction, like I can turn the tables on him and give him exactly what he gives me.

"I want you…to be dirrrrty," I taunt, trying to sound sexy. I think it may be working.

"Stop," he says plainly, staring straight ahead.

"Fine. Be awkward. Like I don't know what that feels like," I say, getting frustrated again.

"You don't need to feel awkward around me," he insists, he voice becoming soft. Now he just feels sorry for me.

"I do if I want to…forget it. Let's just go inside," I mutter as he pulls over in front of the brownstone. He opens my car door for me and I all but sprint to my door. Just as I get the key in the lock, I feel Edward's hand tug my elbow.

"Come upstairs, I don't want to leave stuff like this," he says in a hushed voice. I can't say no when he sounds like that.

We settle ourselves on his brown leather couch, each of us with a drink in hand. The alcohol is helping me loosen up, like it always does. He looks at me expectantly, but I have no idea what he wants me to say.

"Edward…you make me…want stuff," I confess.

"You do the same thing to me," he says, pulling off his dress shoes and propping his feet on the coffee table. I kick off my heels and do the same.

"Yes, but you should be used to it by now. I'm not," I counter.

"Used to what?" he asks.

"You know, wanting the thing you said I needed, that night I brought up pasta and I stubbed my toe."

"Yeah well, I shouldn't have told you that. You don't need that from me," he answers, shaking his head and smiling weakly.

"So, I should get it from someone else?" I ask, my face heating up. I'm just getting all twisted up inside again. I take another large gulp of wine.

"No! Don't do that," he snaps quickly. He almost looks…_angry_?

"I'm confused. You don't want to give it to me but no one else should? I thought my problem was that I needed to get it. That Jake guy seemed interested," I muse.

"Oh hell no!" he says, his voice stern, insistent. He sits upright and faces me, his eyes fixed on mine. "Bella, don't let some 21 year old horny dog who…_can't handle himself_ do that to you. You deserve better. You deserve someone who knows what he's doing," he says—his voice going from commanding to gentle in a matter of mere syllables.

"Like you?" I whisper.

"Yes. No!" he says, completely befuddled.

"Yes, you know what you're doing, or no, you don't know what you're doing?" I say, not even really able to follow him anymore.

"Yes, I know what I'm doing."

"Then do me—oh God! I mean _it_." I stammer, covering my face with my hand. I close my eyes as I feel a palpable wave of blood rush to my cheeks.

"No."

"Edward," I sigh in irritation.

"What?"

I take a deep breath. Here's my chance. I hear all the things Alice and Rose have been chirping in my ear for the last month. I feel the butterflies chase away my inhibitions. I see Edward and me lying under a fort made of sheets and pillows, kissing as the thunder booms around us.

"You owe me a favor," I murmur.

"Yeah?" he says, prompting me to continue.

"I want 'that' to be my favor," I say simply.

"I'm not doing something you can't even say, brown eyes," he says stubbornly.

"Fine. I'll say it then," I tell him before I literally chug half a glass of Shiraz.

"Go ahead. Say it. Out loud," he dares.

I swallow thickly and can feel my pride go down, down, down like a jagged little pill. No spoonful of sugar in sight.

"Alright," I say, taking a deep breath. "Edward, have sex with me. In fact, teach me how to, you know, be good at it. That's the favor I want from you."

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN! Bella sees his…uh…swella…and gets an urge she can't quella. This is why I don't write poetry, people.**

**There's a fic contest I'd like to promote called 'The Google It' Googleward Challenge. It's a one-shot contest with a geeky Edward theme. I myself love the nerds so this is my way of giving back. Please, please, please check out this contest. Participate, read the entries, do all that good stuff. fanfiction(dot)net(slash)~googlewardchallenge**

**I'd also like to thank my sweet friend Onyx1901 for creating Twitter accounts for the characters in the story. Please check out her new fic—it's an adorable comedy called 'If It Kills Me.' fanfiction(dot)net(slash)s(slash)54****09517**

**Speaking of Twitter****, you can follow me and the TNGUS cast of crazies. We are:**

**AngryBadgerGirl  
BadKittyKillKil  
DrWhoHaHa  
AllThatsJazz**

**And last but not least, there's a thread on the AU-Human forum over at Twilighted for TNGUS: twilighted(dot)net(slash)forum(slash)?f=44&t=6510  
Join us for RobPr0n. You know you wanna.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Wow, over a thousand reviews! You guys make me happy in my pants. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and leave love. I hope to keep you all happy and entertained throughout the duration of this story. I read and appreciate every single review.**

**Someone asked what AWOL stood for in the last chapter. It's a military acronym that means Absent WithOut Leave. It refers to what a soldier's status becomes when he/she abandons their post/position or whatever without permission. So, in slang, when someone or something goes AWOL, they're gone and you don't know where or why.**

**Alrighty, enough of the vocabulary lesson. On with the show!**

**Thanks to my beta and internet life partner, Nina, aka WriteOnTime. I've said it before, but I'll say it again. She's my tenderoni.**

* * *

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

_Oh shit._

Bella just called my bluff. Damn it all to hell. My prediction seems to be wrong. In my estimation, Bella would never be able to actually _ask_ for something like that. But she just fucking did.

_Edward, have sex with me._

"No," I reply simply. I am desperate to back out of this.

"But you told me to say it," she protests, her brown eyes wide, her face the very picture of 'mortified.'

_Shit, shit, shit._

I very well can't leave things this way. I can only imagine how much courage a girl like Bella would need to muster to be so direct, so forward, with me. I can't humiliate her. What kind of 'friend' would I claim to be if I caused her to feel that way? Then again, I could just bed her like so many of the nameless, faceless women I've pursued in the past.

My past.

I always knew it. No matter how truthful I was with the women I was intimate with, no matter how straightforward I was regarding the fact that I didn't date and that going to bed with me with purely physical—somehow I always knew that behavior was going to come back and bite me in the ass. And here she is, in all her beautiful, alluring, intelligent, sweet, well-spoken glory, baring her lovely, razor-sharp teeth at me.

I very nearly lost what little composure I had as I drove us home from the dinner party earlier. Her suggestive comments and coquettish demeanor were almost more than I could handle. Every little innuendo she made brought a fresh heat to my groin. At one point, I almost mistook my dick for the gear-shift. Thank God she was looking out the window and missed it.

"What time is it?" she asks softly. She's staring off into space and I wonder why she's curious about the time of all things, but I just answer her.

"It's midnight—actually, a minute after," I say as I look down at my wrist watch.

"Oh. It's the thirteenth. Today's my birthday," she says plainly.

_Fuck._

Now I'm humiliating her, decimating our friendship _and_ ruining her birthday. I need to fix this, desperately. She's an intelligent, rational woman. There must be a way of talking through this. If that doesn't work, I'll just have to turn the charm on…_strong_.

"Come on, we're going out. I'm not working tomorrow, you don't have class. Grendel's is open for one more hour. You're going to have your first drink of your birthday, and I'm buying it for you," I insist.

"I dunno. I'm not really in a celebrating kind of mood," she replies, scratching her forehead.

"Which is exactly why you need a drink. We'll talk things over. Let's go," I say, standing up and motioning toward the door.

"OK, but I'm swapping these heels for a pair of flats. I'm not cramming my feet back into these."

"Suit yourself, brown-eyed birthday girl," I say with a smile as I lead her out into the hallway.

Bella is a walking impossibly slow, so I grab her hand and practically drag her down the street. I feel her hand mine go tense when I first grasp it, but then she curls her fingers against mine, lacing them together. It's so odd that's almost unsettling how such a simple gesture, and one you see as a sign of affection—be it friendship, familial love or romantic—can make my heart skip several beats.

My friends in med school would joke that perhaps I didn't have a heart, and that the reason I was able to do so much with my dick was because my central nervous system had no heart to regulate. I have to wonder now if they were completely wrong.

Bella presents a challenge to the way I 'do business,' so to speak. She is so very attractive to me. Her thinking that she must be 'repulsive' in my eyes is so ridiculous, it borders on the absurd. Of course I'm attracted to her, and hell yes, if I could get away with it, I'd bend her over and give it to her like I wish I could.

But I can't.

We reach the pub at last and I help Bella slide into a booth and sit opposite her. Luckily, we manage to secure a spot that's somewhat private. I want to be able to speak freely and have her feel comfortable saying what's on her mind without worrying that people can hear us.

I order myself a Guinness and Bella has another glass of wine. Once the waitress brings our drinks, we get right down to brass tacks.

"Brown eyes, I'm sorry if I've embarrassed you or made you uncomfortable in any way," I begin.

"Edward," she interrupts. She looks more and more embarrassed with each passing minute, no doubt because I'm trying to talk my way out of doing something I normally love to brag about.

"No, please, just hear me out. Let me explain," I offer. She nods her head and waits for me to continue. "Believe me; it's not that I don't want to. That's not it at all. I just really don't want to end up hurting you and ruining a friendship that I'm growing rather attached to."

"Well, I take issue with that first reason," she says as she purses her lips. I see that scowl of hers come out again. God, if she only knew how sexy she looks when she's angry. Bella expressing any kind of passionate emotion simply turns me inside out.

"You do?"

"Yes! Afraid of hurting me, for doing something I ask for?" she asks rhetorically, pointing to herself angrily. "I'm not a child. And you are so arrogant, Edward. It is mindboggling. Just…the whole idea…'oh poor little Bella will be heartbroken by me when I don't return her _feelings_ for me.' What makes you so sure I'm stupid enough to fall in love with you?" she huffs, looking completely indignant.

_You're stunning when you're angry._

"But…" is all I manage to eke out before she railroads me.

"Give me a little credit, Edward. First of all, I understand the way you interact with women. Second of all, that alone automatically disqualifies you as the type of guy I'd want as a 'real' boyfriend, and third, if I wanted a serious relationship, I'd have one right now. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don't date seriously out of choice?"

I look at her and sigh. I don't really have anything to say the moment, because frankly, she's right—on all three counts. Not to mention the fact that my ego is slightly bruised. I can appreciate the fact that she is channeling her embarrassment into anger but it's still ruffling my feathers.

"_I'm_ not _your_ 'type,' huh?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in irritation.

"No. _You_ are not_ my_ type, Edward," she says with an adorably dismissive air. She even waves her hand at me and turns up her nose.

_Oh, two can play at this game, little girl._

"Alright, if that's the case, then why ask for this 'favor' as you call it?" I ask, hoping she'll paint herself into a corner. Let's see how well she can argue when she has to admit that she wants sex from me for a very superficial reason.

"Because…I want _that_—something physical," she stammers.

"You want…?" I press.

"I want…ugh! Why are you doing this?" she spits, her face turning beet red. "Stop it, now you're just toying with me like a cat with a mouse," she accuses.

"I'm not. _I_ want to be sure you know what you're getting into," I explain.

"Look, I don't have the time or the energy for dating. I wouldn't make the best girlfriend anyway. I'm too wrapped up in school and my thesis," she explains. Well, apparently, she's thought this through more than I give her credit for.

"So, you'd like for us to be physically intimate but not actually be a 'couple,'" I ask, seeking complete clarification on this. I stop my playful teasing when I realize that she is, in fact, dead serious.

"Yes. The way I see it, you need a stand-in date and I need a stand-in boyfriend. Works out for both of us," she says softly. She's looking down at the table like she's willing herself to disappear. I have to hand it to her for having so much moxie, I really do.

"You're sure?" I ask again.

This is against my better judgment, but I begin to think perhaps I really had created this image in my mind of her that might not necessarily be accurate. Bella is no shy wallflower, I could tell that much at dinner tonight. She really could give as good as she got. Whenever I have any kind of dispute with her, she never backs down and always stands her ground. Bella isn't as vulnerable and emotional as I think she is.

"Bella," I say, looking right in her eyes, "I'm being completely honest now. I've never had a steady relationship with a woman. If you know not to ever expect that from me, know it and truly believe it, I'll do this favor for you," I tell her.

"I don't expect anything from you—and you said yourself, you never lie, right?"

"Right," I confirm.

"Then that's fair as far as I'm concerned. Can we see other people?" she asks, almost as if she's taunting me.

"You'd do that?" I ask, a more than a little surprised.

"If I wanted to, why not? Is that not allowed? Can I not see other men?" she pushes.

"Um. I don't want you to," I reply quickly, feeling my body become rigid.

_Shit._

I don't believe this, but the thought of another man touching Bella makes me want to rip someone's throat out. I'm not telling her that though. She's doing this to bait me, clearly. She's certainly not as frail or naïve as she looks.

"Why not?" she asks as she shrugs her soft, creamy-white shoulder at me. Christ, she's sexy when she's challenging me.

"Because you want me to teach you, correct?"

"Correct."

"Well, then, I'll need time with you for that. I'm not competing with someone else for your time. If another guy is interested in taking my place, then fine. But if you want to go to _my_ school, and take _my_ class, you only have _one_ teacher. _Me_."

"Fair enough. Then you don't get have other 'students,' do you now?"

"Well, no I suppose I don't. I wouldn't have time anyway. Unless, you'd like a threesome," I say with a smirk.

Her face turns that glorious shade of pink, but then she looks so annoyed, I may need to censor myself lest she clock me.

"No, I would not like a threesome, Edward," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, do we need rules or something, or just…I dunno. How should we work this?" she asks, blushing and stammering again.

"I have enough going on with my residency, I don't need the hassle of 'penciling in' my time with you. If you want something, brown eyes, come and get it," I say, licking my lips.

"Just knock on your door?" she squeaks.

"Just knock. Or I'll come to you. Whichever. If there's a flat surface, I'm good to go. Hell, what are you—a hundred and ten pounds? I don't even need a flat surface. I could just hold you up against a wall," I inform her with a throaty laugh. Her eyes go wide and she clears her throat.

"Um, I, uh, when do we start?" she asks, nearly spilling her wine.

"Finish your drink, brown eyes."

"Done," she says, just as she's about to tip back the last of her merlot.

"Wait," I interrupt before she finishes. "A toast—to you. Happy Birthday, brown eyes," I add, clinking my pint of ale against her glass.

"Thank you," she replies with a smile.

Five minutes later, I slap some money against the table and we're headed back to the brownstone, the cold Cambridge air very quickly clearing the slight alcoholic haze I'm in. When Bella crosses her arms and shivers, I drape my suit jacket over her shoulders.

"Thanks, you didn't need to do that," she says, holding the lapels of my jacket against her chest. Her cheeks are flushed and the night air has tousled her hair slightly. She looks…_perfect_.

"Don't worry about it, we're almost home," I tell her, putting my hand on the small of her back gently. I feel her tense up despite the fact that she doesn't say or do anything in protest.

_You really ought to get used to me touching you._

I almost start to laugh to myself but stop before I arouse Bella's suspicion that I'm watching her so closely. That reminds me that I should really have a discussion with her about her tweets and how I've read some of them. OK, I read more than some. I read them all. In fact, every time I use Twitter, I check her tweets. She seems to say nice things about me when she's drunk—well, confessions of being attracted to me, at least. But when she's sober, her opinion of me is far less favorable. Now's probably not the time to broach the subject, but I promise myself that I will mention it to her.

"So, uh…my place or yours?" she asks with an awkward laugh as we make our way into the small foyer of our building.

"I have a king sized bed," I tell her, pulling sleeves of my jacket as it rests on her shoulders. Her body shuffles into mine and I gather her up in my arms, lacing the fingers of both my hands together behind her back.

"Hmm, so I can pretty much sleep a good two, three, feet away from you? I like that idea. You nearly smothered me the other day, falling asleep on top of me on my own couch," she complains, wrinkling her little nose at me.

"Do you really think I have any intention of sleeping while on top of you tonight?" I joke as I take her hand and lead her up the stairs to my apartment.

"There you go again, Cullen," she sighs, rolling her eyes at me.

"What, should I tell you that I'll be sure to be done in three minutes and snoring soundly right afterward? What kind of 'teacher' would that make me?" I tease, wrapping her arm around my waist.

"Not a very good one, I suppose," she says with a nervous laugh.

"Come on, let's go upstairs. I'll show you mine if you show me yours," I whisper in her ear. I feel the skin on her arm turn to goose flesh at the sound of my words.

Although I don't show it, I'm feeling completely conflicted. I badly want to take Bella up on this, but at the same time, I don't want to take advantage of her. If I make this experience only about her, perhaps it won't weigh as heavily on my conscience. She's so beautiful in a true, honest way, inside and out—unlike any other woman I've met. I don't want to turn her bitter and jaded. Even I'm not that big of an asshole.

Perhaps I can give this a handful of encounters until she feels confident in her sexuality, in embracing her _inner vixen_ and then I can gently pull away. I can do that.

_I think._

"Here," I say, leading her down the hall into my bedroom. "Just have a seat on the edge of the bed. Let me handle the rest," I add, taking her hand and kissing it lightly as she sits.

"I'm, uh, OK. Just, you know," she stammers.

"Nervous?" I ask.

"Yes," she answers quickly.

"I can tell. It's fine. We don't have to do anything. You can go home, come back when you feel more ready. It's all up to you," I offer, hoping to assuage her nerves.

"No, let's get this over with," she says sternly.

"Get it over with? No, no. I don't think you get this, brown eyes," I tell her, sitting down on the bed beside her.

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't something you just 'get over with.' At least, not when it's with me," I say with a smirk. "You do it because you want to so desperately, you can't think of anything else."

Taking her hand in mine, I rub the lightest circles on her palm with my fingertips.

"Relax, brown eyes. It's not a test or a race. I have no interest in this other than to give you what you want, OK?" I reassure her in a soft voice.

"OK," she whispers back.

"Good. Close your eyes for a minute, and take some deep breaths. Concentrate on breathing slowly and just let yourself go. If I do anything you don't like, just tell me to stop," I instruct her calmly.

_They never tell me to stop. Actually, they tell me never to stop._

I watch as she takes a deep breath and her body goes slightly lax. Still using my fingertips, I softly caress the inside of her arm, from her wrist to her elbow—very slowly, up and down. When I see a small smile spread across her face, I know she's calming down.

"See, brown eyes? Sometimes even the slightest touch can evoke a very strong response. A little bit can go a long way," I murmur. She hums in response and her smile gets bigger, so I decide to do just a bit more. Raising her hand to my lips, I press my mouth to the center of her palm and kiss it lightly. She lets out the softest, most beautiful sigh.

_That's right. You can open up to me._

I gingerly kiss the inside of her pale wrist, letting my lips linger on her pulse for just a few seconds. Next, I kiss a long, slow, languid trail all the way to the crease of her elbow and back down again.

I position myself behind her, putting my legs on either side of hers. I very gently rub circles into the back of her neck with my fingers.

"Just let your head fall forward, then roll it slowly from side to side. Let those muscles stretch and relax a bit," I tell her in a calm, soothing voice. I use my thumbs to press into her tense neck a little harder now, and I feel her breathing slow down and her posture ease. She rolls her head around and sighs a few times.

When she lifts her hand and moves her hair away from the back of her neck, I know she's ready for more. I slowly lean my mouth to her bare neck without actually touching. I just want her to feel my breath. When a slight shiver passes through her, I skim my lips across her skin, back and forth as light as I can. She purrs for me—and I think I have a new favorite sound.

Gradually, I let my lips linger on her neck for longer and longer kisses. My hands move to massage her shoulders and upper arms. Ever so slowly, I gently move the fabric of her dress so that her collarbone is exposed to me. I graze the whiskers of my chin against it very gently, just to give her a feeling of a different texture across her skin. Her back arches and her breath comes out in short, little bursts—I've tickled her slightly. I kiss her goose bumps away, paying extra attention to the hollow above her clavicle.

She reaches for my hands and threads her fingers with mine, wrapping our arms around her waist. I'll keep my hands on hers for as long as she wants them there. In fact, I don't plan on moving them until _she_ puts them somewhere on her body.

I continue kissing the delicate, silky skin all along her neck and down both shoulders. Her breathing gets heavier as her body leans more and more into mine. It's time for me to talk to her a little more, to let her know that she's the only thing on my mind.

"Brown eyes," I whisper into her ear as I touch my lips to it. "Your skin—the way it feels, the way it tastes…so lovely, sweet. Just like the rest of you," I murmur.

Usually the things I say are whatever comes to mind or what I think the woman I'm with would like to hear. But this…this I actually mean. Her skin and everything else about her really is lovely and sweet to me.

"Edward," she says with a light sigh. She moves my hands and puts them on her legs. Keeping hers hands on top of mine, she sweeps them against her supple thighs, the skirt of her dress riding higher and higher with each pass. Her skin is so soft, so pliant under my palms.

"So beautiful to touch, Bella," I say, my voice a whisper. "I want to touch your pretty face, may I?" I ask, and she nods slowly. Instead of merely lifting my hand, I move it along her body. First up her thigh, to her hip, her waist…and then…m_y brown-eyed Bella opens like a flower._ She arches her back and moves her arms so that her hands are on my waist.

_She's clearing a path for me to touch her chest._

And so, I allow my hand to brush against the side of her breast—only permitting the tip of my middle finger to gingerly caress the bump of her nipple as my hand makes its way to her neck, and then finally, her face. I smooth her jaw with the back of my fingers, then stroke her cheek before gently cupping her chin in my hand.

"I'd like to kiss you now, Bella. May I?" I ask.

"Yes," she answers.

I turn her head to the side and lean my face into hers. Very softly, I kiss her pouty lips. I can't help it when I let out a small groan and before I have time to worry that I may have frightened her, she groans back.

_Fuck._

I move my hands back to her shoulders, rubbing them up and down.

"Edward, please," she moans in a light whisper.

"Whatever you want, Bella, you can have. You don't have to use words, you can just show me," I say, trying to reassure her and help her overcome her shyness.

She takes my hands and slowly moves them from her shoulder, to the top of her chest and down until they're resting on her breasts. I just keep them still at first and wait. When she starts moving her torso against my hands, I know she's ready for me to do more, so I make slow circles against her with my palms, letting my thumbs flick against her nipples just a few times.

My kisses to her neck and shoulders become more intense as I nip and lick her lightly, savoring the experience as much as I can without getting myself too excited. My groin aches and I try my best to ignore my erection despite the fact that kissing her and touching her is driving me crazy. Instead, I focus my attention on gauging her arousal.

I listen for her moans and gasps to get louder and throatier. I feel for her body to start moving against mine more rhythmically and with more urgency. I watch her face as her expression becomes more relaxed and wanton—her brow smoothes and her lips pucker, her tongue darting out to lick them. I taste the light saltiness of the perspiration building on the back of her neck. Last, I smell her body's scent become fuller, muskier.

When she begins pulling at the collar of her dress and hitching up the hem, it's time to start easing off her clothes. I very carefully slide down the zipper that rests against her back and use the flat of my palm to caress her shoulder blade. She hunches her upper body so that the fabric of her clothing slips down to her waist. I press my cheek into her bare shoulder and admire her beautiful pinkish purple bra against her creamy skin.

"Mmm, chocolate and raspberry. I love those two together—sweet and tart," I tease.

I slip my fingers under the strap of her bra and hook my fingers around it. Slowly easing it down her arm, I watch the shimmery cloth peel away from her skin, revealing her perfect round, pert, breast.

"You're too pretty to keep covered up, every part of you needs sunlight, just like the flower that you are," I whisper. Her eyes open and she turns to face me.

"Do you…really think that?" she asks. Her eyes search mine for any bit of truth they can find.

"I've told you before brown eyes—I never lie," I say. And with that, I scoop her up and lie her down on her back, a mound of pillows behind her. Half undressed and highly aroused, she looks the very picture of the little siren I knew she could become.

I lie on my side next to her and kiss her sweet lips. Soon her fingers find the buttons of my shirt while I loosen and slip off my tie. She runs her palms over my chest and abdomen and plants tiny kisses up and down my neck. Her exploration of my body ignites me like a powder keg. I still her hands at my waist.

"Bella," I begin.

"Sorry, I won't touch you if you don't want me to."

I can't help it and let out a laugh.

"Believe me; it's _not_ that I don't want you to. It's because you shouldn't. I need to be able to control myself and that's tough to do when you touch me like that," I say with a sheepish grin as I stroke her cheek.

We kiss again, more impatiently this time. I slip her dress off her body and cast it to the floor. I look at her body and admire her curves, all soft and smooth. I kiss and lick a path from the hollow of her neck down to navel and back up, stopping at her cleavage. My lips roam to her right breast, still covered in her thin, sheer bra. I graze my teeth across her nipple and smile inwardly when she arches her back into me and hisses loudly. I lick and tease until she can't take anymore and hurriedly unclasps and tears her bra off, throwing it to the floor.

I smile when I take in the sight of her. God knows I've been with my fair share of women but Bella…she's just in a league all her own. To see her as a sexual being and an intelligent, witty, independent person who is sweet and unassuming, it's a combination unlike any I've ever seen in another person. I've met beautiful, charming women who most men would love to display and hang off their arms. But I've been with those types. I've heard them confess their secrets to me in the intimacy of my bed. The mystery fades. The surprise no longer holds your anticipation. The seduction loses its spell on you. But Bella keeps me on my toes. She keeps me guessing and I never know what she'll say from one minute to the next.

So to look at her lying there looking so seductive and yet so innocent just makes me insane with desire for her, but at the same time cautious and mindful of how I want to do this right, to do this differently—not just for her sake, but maybe for mine too.

"I just want to tell you again that you're different from the other women I've been with. I like you a lot. I know I owe you a favor so this is for you, but please don't think it's just meaningless to me. You're still important to me, I do care about you. You know that, right?" I ask, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes.

"I do know that, Edward. Thank you. For caring, and for being my friend," she replies sweetly.

And that's all I need to hear before I'm ready to keep exploring her body.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED! IN TNGUSPOV!**

**This lemon is so long, I had to split it into a two parter. The rest will post very shortly. I _promise_****. TNGUS won't make you wait too long. ;o)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: As promised, here's part two of the last chapter. I know you all hate me for cockblocking, so I hope this makes up for it. ;o) As always, thank you for taking the time to read and leave your positive comments. I'm very grateful.**

**Thanks to WriteOnTime for being my beta **_**par excellence**_** and a friend who's always there for me.**

* * *

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

Bella and I look at each other for a minute and smile. When she closes her eyes, tilts her head, and sighs, I trace my finger around her mouth, drawing a light outline around her soft lips.

"Kiss me," she murmurs, and I oblige. Her mouth parts open, and I ease the tip of tongue inside it. She tastes of wine—earthy and delicious. I feel her tongue flick across my bottom lip before she moans and gently bites it.

_I think I'm going to lose my fucking mind. All she's doing is French kissing me and I already think I might explode._

My hands skim up her waist to her delicate breasts. Her breath hitches when I cup them gently and roll her nipples between my fingers. I kiss her right under her earlobe and playfully nip at the skin there. Her hands run through my hair, tugging my head, guiding it to go lower down her body.

_You read my mind, brown eyes._

I kiss a line down her neck, going agonizingly slowly until her hips start grinding against me and a little hint of a growl slips out of her. When I hear that sound, I let out a long, shaky breath. In my mind, I'm assaulted by images of various medical conditions from the urology rotation I did as an intern: priapism, testicular infarction, prostatitis, just to name a few. I fear all these debilitating ailments to my family jewels will become a reality soon.

"Edwaarrrrd," she purrs impatiently. When she nearly gives me a sprained neck muscle from pushing my head into her chest, I can't tease her any longer. I don't think either of us can stand it.

I kiss her nipple with a light little peck and smile up at her. Her eyes are closed and her face is a mixture of excitement and longing—just beautiful, really. I trail my tongue slowly around the diameter of her areola and revel in the muffled little moan that escapes her. I flick my tongue up and down her nipple and she clutches my shoulders, digging her fingers into me.

I gently clasp the pert little berry-colored tip in my teeth before taking it in my mouth and alternating between sucking it and teasing it with my tongue. My other hand pinches and pulls at her other firm peak, my fingers deftly playing with her highly responsive flesh.

Her moans are now mewls and whimpers, and so I begin to ease my way down her abdomen, alternating between kissing and rubbing my 5 o'clock shadow against her. I carefully and slowly splay her legs on either side of me and run my hand along the front of her panties. My mouth waters as I catch sight of her creamy skin, covered in a short little patch of hair that forms a small line atop her pubic bone.

I slip my thumb down that small line, following it until it ends. The pad of my finger moves in gentle circles, her panties forming a slowly dampening barrier between it and her clitoris. She growls at me again, but this time also grabs fistfuls of my hair.

"Mmm, please. God, please," she pleads softly.

"I want to put my hand and mouth on you, Bella. May I?" I ask.

"Shit, yes!" she hisses at me. I turn my head so that I smirk into her thigh. I'm afraid of what she'd do if she sees that smug look on my face.

With my thumb and middle finger, I pinch the crotch of her panties, pulling them to side and exposing her fucking spectacular pink pussy. It, too, is like a flower—a soft, velvety grouping of moist petals begging for my admiration. I tickle her inner labia with the tip of my finger—one side, then the other, very gently and slowly. I do the same with her clitoris, as light as I can, and watch as her body produces more moisture and her flesh darkens and swells slightly.

The urge to taste her can't be suppressed any longer. I just can't wait any longer. Judging by how Bella's grinding her hips into me, she can't either. I press my lips to her clitoris and taste it with the flat of my tongue. She moans a string of profanities that frankly, coming from any other woman, would probably turn me off. But when Bella mutters '_oh fucking shit, oh my fucking holy hell, oh fuck yes, that is fucking amazing_,' it make my cock feel like it's going to have a permanent imprint of my zipper on its shaft.

I stop just long enough to pull her panties down her legs and off her body. I adjust her lower body as I caress and kiss her inner thighs, working my way back up to where I left off. I touch her with both hands now, so I can access every little sensitive part of her—to touch and taste it until she begs me to stop.

Leaning my mouth against her, I let my tongue meander over her petal lips and then begin to gingerly ease it inside of her.

And that's when I realize something.

My tongue doesn't have very much space to move around.

At all.

Because her _hymen_ is blocking its path.

I use great care to confirm my tongue's suspicions with my index finger. Sure enough, there's a little something extra I had a feeling might be there, but when Bella became so direct and assertive in her insistence on this _favor_, I reasoned it was very unlikely that she'd never been with a man before.

"Edward?" she whispers.

"Yes?" I reply. I just gently stroke the side of her thigh as I contemplate how I should proceed.

"Um, is everything OK?" she asks, sounding worried.

I use the light coming from the bathroom and the muted lamp in the corner to inspect between her legs more closely.

"Yeah, everything is fine. Including your hymen," I inform her. "Why didn't you tell me you're a virgin?" I ask, looking up at her face.

Her face is bright red.

"I…uh…you didn't ask?" she answers with a question.

"I knew you were nervous but I didn't think you'd want to lose your virginity as a 'favor.' Brown eyes, I would love to keep going but not like this," I tell her.

"I'm sorry," she says. Shifting away from me, she grabs my shirt from the floor and covers her torso with it. Her face is downcast and she puts her hand over her eyes.

"Bella…don't. Please don't be upset. I'm…fuck," I say, unable to unscramble the mess I'm in. The mess I'm in with her, because of her, but at the same time—I'm also to blame. I shouldn't have flirted with her so much. I shouldn't have taunted her for being uptight. I should've kept my attraction for her hidden better. I should've just been a gentleman.

I don't know what to say to make things better, and that just makes me angrier at myself.

_I can get a woman off in less than a minute, in more ways than I can count. But I can't think of a fucking thing to say to make a nice girl stop crying._

Taking a deep breath, I gather the blanket at the foot of the bed and drape it over Bella and myself before lying down behind her, my chest against her back. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her as close to me as I can.

_Maybe I can smother the tears out of her._

She doesn't pull away from me but she doesn't speak either. I let her cry for a while before I try talking again.

"I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have flirted with you so much, or teased you about not flirting back," I explain. "You're a really great woman, Bella, you deserve a first time with someone who can give you more than I can."

"Edward," she says in a soft voice. "Remember when I told you about my dad—how he got sick and passed away pretty quickly?"

"I remember," I reply.

"Well, my dad…he was more than my father. I looked up to him, respected him, but he was also my friend. I'd go to him for advice, for help. I trusted him a lot. I mean, basically, I had a really close bond with him. And in less than two months, he was gone. Forever," she says softly.

"I know. I'm sorry you went through that," I tell her, stroking the back of her hand as I hold it in mine.

"But my dad taught me one last thing, one last really important thing, even though it wasn't on purpose. That life is short. Anything can happen. Live your life—live it in the moment. You know what my dad wanted the last day he was still alert enough to talk?"

"What?" I whisper.

"A shot of tequila and a cigar. He wanted the things he'd have when he was happy—cheap alcohol and a stinky stogie. He'd have that when he wanted to celebrate something. He didn't want to cry or be sad. And he didn't want something he'd never had before. He was going to enjoy the simple stuff he enjoyed the day I was born, the day I found out I got into Harvard. My dad wanted to celebrate with the plain old way, with the things that made him smile."

I just listen as I continue to stroke her hand.

"I want to live like that, Edward. Everyday. Always try to celebrate life in simple ways. Tonight is my 21st birthday. And this was my gift to myself. To do something impulsive like anyone my age would do while I still can," she confesses in a soft voice.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Bella?" I ask again.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she answers.

"I do want you, I mean, I think you're beautiful, and charming…I just don't want you to regret it, that's all," I say, being completely honest.

She turns and faces me, cupping her small hands on either side of my face.

"For me, regret has a different meaning now. Regret is what I feel for not doing the things I should have, for not trying to live a little," she explains. "But for what it's worth, I appreciate you looking out for me. You're the nicest pig I've ever met," she adds with a laugh.

"Oink," I say as I kiss her, "oink," I say again as I kiss once more, "oink," I repeat with one last kiss—this one much longer.

She presses into me and wraps her arms around my neck. I rest my palm against her hip, massaging it softly before letting my hand move to her firm, round backside.

"Brown eyes," I begin. "Can we continue our lesson now?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"I would love to," she purrs.

"Although, I think I'd like to split this lesson into a few sessions, if you don't mind," I add.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I do believe I need to practice some more rudimentary material before beginning…um…introducing my new 'unit?'" I tease playfully.

"Oh, um. Is the 'unit' really…_large_?" she asks with wide eyes, her blush returning.

"Yes, and we shouldn't…_cram_. You need to study in stages," I say, unable to keep from laughing. She can't hold back either and shakes as she hides her face in my neck.

"OK, Professor Big Unit, I guess we can do some more remedial work first. That sounds like a more appropriate lesson plan considering…I'm a little behind on this subject," she muses with a smile.

"Nothing wrong with your little behind," I say with a smirk as I lightly smack her ass.

"Cheeky," she gasps.

"Mmmhmm," I agree, "so's my sense of humor," I add as I massage where my hand just swatted her.

She sighs, relaxing in my arms as I roll her onto her back again and kiss her deeply. I make my way back down her soft, sweet smelling body, feeling every smooth curve and plane of her form, murmuring that I will indeed make sure she has a very, very happy birthday.

Kissing her thighs up and down, I nibble my way back to where I was before her hymen interrupted me. Looking up at her face, I think about what she said, about living life instead of watching it pass. And I wonder for a second if I've really been living myself. Her eyes open and she looks at me and smiles.

"Lesson one," I say. "Your g-spot," I add with a wink.

I swirl my tongue around, above and next to her clitoris, but not directly on it. Mindful to be slow, I graze my fingers along the outside of her pussy, waiting for her to want more, waiting for her body to urge me on. When she shifts restlessly against me and her hands are in my hair again, I know she's ready.

My tongue works against her clitoris with gentle flicks and slow lapping movements as I ease my finger inside her gingerly, not wanting to cause her any discomfort. Despite the fact that her lack of prior intercourse makes even the passage of my finger a little difficult, her hips only continue to move faster as her breathing and pulse accelerate, so I know she's not in any pain. I move my tongue faster before taking her clit into my mouth and sucking on it. My finger strokes back and forth, sliding along the inside of her. When I find the rough patch of tissue there, I press on with the tip of my finger and my mouth sucks slightly harder.

Immediately, her body reacts in the most fucking phenomenal way. Her back arches off the bed. Her fingernails dig into my scalp. Her mouth opens wide; her jaw slack and her eyes squeezed shut. Her hips thrust and gyrate wildly. Her pelvic muscles contract and pulse around my finger. But the best part is the sounds she makes.

"Edward, oh…oh…oh…Jesus!" she chants, her voice a full octave higher than normal. In between the words are the most amazing moans and sighs.

She begins to calm as I slow down my sucking and stroking. But I'm not done. And neither is she, so I start to quicken the pace again in a nice, even rhythm. When I find her g-spot again, she climaxes again, not as hard, but for longer.

"Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I'm gonna cum…again…oh FUCK," she cries out.

Her arms are slack and stretched out across the bed. Her body begins to calm again as her orgasm progresses but also subsides. I can tell by the way her sounds become soft whimpers and how her skin is perspiring that round three will not be necessary. Honestly, few women get past two rounds of g-spot stimulation with me.

I give her a few minutes to catch her breath before offering her something to drink. She laughs when I pull an unopened bottle of water from the night stand drawer.

"Do you always keep hydration nearby your bed, you know, for just these types of situations?" she asks with a giggle. She's talking to me with only one eye open, her hair matted to her forehead and her head tilted the side as it rests on the back of her fingers.

_She looks completely fucking spent, a little wasted and absolutely beautiful._

"Do you really need me to brag after what I just did for you?" I tease.

"Aren't you bragging by asking that question?"

"You're smart even when you look too tired to think."

"You're smart to flatter me in order to deflect my attention."

"Did it work?"

"I don't know; I'm too tired to think."

"How about we go to sleep then? It's pretty late."

She yawns in agreement.

"No more lessons?" she asks as her open eye begins to droop.

"Not while you're asleep. What do you take me for, some kind of crotch fondling deviant?" I tease, recalling the incident on her couch the other day.

"Ugh, remind me why I talk to you, Edward."

I don't answer with words. I just hold up the one index finger that touched her g-spot a short while ago and wiggle at her. She holds up a different finger at me and I laugh.

"Not yet, brown eyes. We have work to do first. But sleep now."

She takes a deep breath and sits up.

"Where'd my dress go?" she asks with a laugh.

"It's here somewhere. Why?"

"Unlike you, I don't plan on walking around naked—at least not until I'm back in my own apartment."

"Oh. You can sleep here—if you like. I mean, it's up to you. I thought, well, we could pick up where we left off in the morning. If you want," I babble incoherently. It's ridiculous really, how I manage to get my thoughts and words in a tangled mess around Bella. I haven't felt awkward or tongue tied in front of a woman since I was a teenager.

She smiles at me and lies back down, stretching her body like a cat in the process. I work my dress pants off and toss them over a chair before slipping back into bed next to her.

"Don't smoosh me like last time," she grumbles.

"Clearly, I need to try for three next time because two did not make you any more agreeable, brown eyes," I tease, goosing her ass.

"I'd hit you if I wasn't so tired," she complains, even though she rolls over, grabs my arm and wraps it around herself. She drifts off so quickly, so easily, resting her head on my shoulder.

I press my lips to the top of her head and realize that this is the first time a woman has actually slept in my bed. Right now is usually when I hit the speed dial for my favorite (i.e. fastest) cab company. Oddly, I don't feel panicked or uncomfortable or even a little strange. It feels devastatingly, yet boringly,_normal_.

A faint smile forms on my face as I fall into a really deep sleep.

I wake up the next morning to a nice warm body curled around me, our limbs tangled together. She's still naked and the sight of her like that, asleep and smiling, makes my morning wood beg for some kind of attention—_any_ kind of attention.

She stirs with little sighs and stretches, her hands moving around me. Her face is adorably amusing. At first it registers confusion, no doubt because she's too sleepy to remember why she's waking up with another person. It quickly melts in a contented smile that I really can't resist, so I kiss her.

Her hands are curious this morning, roaming my neck, chest and shoulders. I don't really have the willpower to stop her—not after last night. Sliding my arms around her tightly, I shift her over so that she's lying on top of me with her legs between mine.

My hands are in her hair as I kiss her eagerly. When she starts kissing my cheek and moves down to my jaw line and my neck, I move my hands to her back, rubbing the soft little bumps of her spine up and down.

"I need to take a shower," I tell her. I'm getting to the point where if I don't jerk off soon, those urological ailments might actually become a reality.

"Oh, um…" she says, looking very bashful.

"What is it, brown eyes?" I ask. "We'll get back to 'studying' when I'm done," I say with a laugh.

"I thought, well, sure, but…canIcomewithyou?" she asks really quickly, almost under her breath entirely.

"Hmm. You know how I like to be naked?" I ask playfully.

"Yes," she replies with a smile.

"Well, I especially like to be naked in the shower," I inform her.

She rolls her eyes and smacks my arm.

"Yeah, I sort of figured that. I, you know, thought we could, do an aquatic lesson?" she asks, looking sideways with her head tilted down.

"Are you OK with seeing me with nothing on? You didn't react too well the last time."

"Yeah, well that's because it was a surprise. And the first time."

"The first time you saw me naked…hopefully not the last."

"No, I mean the first time of any guy."

"Was it really?" I ask, a little, but not completely, surprised. She nods her head.

"I'm sorry I did that to you. I really did have my shorts in my hand and stepped into them the second you turned your head away."

"Actually, looking back on it, it was pretty hilarious. And I now have a great story to tell at your dinner parties," she jokes.

"You wouldn't dare, brown eyes," I warn, squinting my eyes at her in a scowl.

She scrunches up her nose and makes a fist at me. I jump out of bed, pick her up and heave her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Edward, let me down. God, you are literally a caveman, do you know that?" she protests, pounding her fists against my back.

I don't answer; instead I just grunt and swat her ass a few times.

_Mine._

_Where did that come from? OK, I'll ignore that I just thought that._

_Mine._

My mind floods with the sight of her last night—moaning and writhing, calling my name in a moment of ecstasy—and I can't help it. I can't help the urge to hit her over the head with a club and drag her into a cave because I am desperate to be the first, last, and only lucky bastard to make her feel like she did in my bed last night. I try to shake the idea from my brain but in my lust-induced haze, I'm not having a great deal of luck.

A few minutes later, we're soaping up in a nice steamy shower. I smirk as I catch Bella repeatedly steal glances at my junk, which is now quite clearly in a full state of arousal.

"Yes, brown eyes, this is what happens when I see _you_ naked," I joke, hoping to ease her embarrassment over her obvious curiosity.

"You were right about needing remedial lessons. That is a rather large unit," she says through a sexy giggle, despite her blushing. "Oh, you have soap that's about to go in your eye," she notices, brushing it away from my eyebrow.

Her hand moves to my cheek, where she strokes it lightly. Stepping closer, she stands on tip toes and kisses me on the lips. The smell of soap and shampoo fill my nose, and I pull her body into mine. Curious hands begin moving against me once again, down my abdomen, toward the hair below my navel.

"Can I?" she asks sheepishly.

"No man in his right mind would refuse you," I reply.

Her hands move delicately, feeling the smooth, yet veined skin of my erect shaft. I put some soap on my hands and place them over hers, showing her how to wrap her fingers around me and how fast to stroke up and down.

"Like this?" she asks, so unbelievably fucking sweet and innocent. It just makes me crazier with desire.

"Fuck. Just like that," I groan. She's standing at my side, so I rest my hand on her breast, pinching and teasing her nipple. When she moans at that, I know I don't have long. I moan and hiss each time her hand moves up to my frenulum, where the most sensitive nerves are.

"Edward, you're beautiful too," she murmurs against my cheek.

Hearing her echo my words back to me so sweetly and honestly careens me past the point of no return. I brace my hand against the wall for balance as I feel every muscle in my groin heat up and tighten. I shut my eyes tightly and clench my jaw.

"Bella, you're making cum, fuck," I grunt as my ejaculate pulses out of me.

She kisses my neck and cheek over and over as I stand and wait to catch my breath a little. She nuzzles into my shoulder and puts her arms around my waist.

"Thank you," I say, kissing her forehead.

"Don't thank me—thank you! Watching that was amazing," she confesses, biting her lip.

"Oh, well in that case, maybe we can swap out your hands for your mouth next time," I say with a wink.

We rinse off and cover ourselves with towels as we continue our little chat.

"You know, I kind of have an aversion to, um…blow jobs," she confesses.

"Just the idea of it?"

"Yeah. I guess it's not really rational, but I don't like the idea of putting it in my mouth. It seems…ack, I can't really explain it. Dirty? And like 'servicing' a man. I know you just did the same thing for me last night so like I said, I realize it's not rational," she tries to explain. Her blush is back and she wrings her hands awkwardly.

"Don't worry about it, honestly. Lots of people have boundaries, things that don't turn them on or make them uncomfortable. You never know, you might change your mind," I say smugly. "But if you don't, you don't," I say with a shrug even though I'm secretly very, very disappointed.

After we dry off and get dressed, I offer her a birthday brunch, which she accepts gladly.

Bella goes downstairs to change out of her cocktail dress and into something more appropriate for a Saturday morning and to also check her messages and email.

I do the same for a good twenty minutes or so before curiosity gets the better of me. I log on to Twitter and read Bella's tweets. The most recent ones are from just minutes ago.

_**What are you doing?**_

_**BadKittyKillKil** We ain't nothin' but mammals. Happpeeeee Birrrrthday to MEEEEEE!_

_**JustAskMAlice** (at)BadKittyKillKil ZOMG! Wut? Oh no u di-int! Gurl, did u git ur freak on last night? WITH TNGUS? TNGUS TONGUE? TASTY? TENDER?_

_**BadKittyKillKil** (at)JustAskMAlice Totally tasty, tender, terrifically tantalizing. TNGUS totes takes time to titillate, tease. Torture turns to transcendence._

_**JustAskMAlice** (at)BadKittyKillKil Jane, you alliterative slut! Fuck, I'm jealous. Full disclosure SBux l8r or I will BadKittyKillKill u!_

_**BadKittyKillKil** (at)JustAskMAlice Yeah, yeah, just text me or whatevs. 2 blissed out 2 care at the mo._

The words 'shit eating grin' don't even begin to describe the way her little confessions of happiness affect the expression on my face. I shut down my computer just as I hear Bella knock on the door, ready for brunch.

_The ladies love the good doctor_.

* * *

**So there ya go. These two kids have some kind of arrangement going on here and we'll just have see how it all pans out.**

**Tune in next time when we're back to BPOV. :oD**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Welcome back! Thank you, as always, for your awesome reviews and support. I am really lucky to be able to share this little story with such a sweet group of people. **

**Tons of big wet sloppies for my beta—the ****wonderful, beautiful, and grope-worthy Nina, aka WriteOnTime. I lubs her lotses.**

**Let's see what's in store next. This is BPOV.**

* * *

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

Alice looks as if she's about to burst and Rose has an expression on her face of pure shock but also amusement. Yes, these are my two best friends, and yeah, they're _dying_ to hear the details about my night with Edward.

"You have to start at the beginning. Leave nothing out," Alice instructs me as I sit with them at their little round table at Starbucks in Harvard Square—I've been summoned, rather than invited, to disclose all the details from my evening (and morning) with Edward.

"She already told us he looks good naked, what else do you need to know?" Rose jokes. "Nah, I take that back. Did you see Jesus in twelve seconds?" she asks instead, her face dead serious.

"I think I saw him _and_ all his disciples," I giggle into my latte. "No seriously, we had a good time at the charity dinner," I add with a smile.

"Did you fuck him there?" Rose asks calmly. I answer her with a glare and a light kick under the table.

"No, I danced with him, ate dinner, chatted with his work friends, that kind of stuff," I inform her.

"Can we skip to the good parts?" Alice asks, looking impatient. "How did it all start, anyway? Did he just attack you? I knew that dress made you look crazy hot."

"No, he didn't attack me," I say with a laugh. "He was actually very sweet—well, in a totally conceited way," I add with a roll of my eyes.

"So, what, he just, like, kissed you goodnight and it all escalated from there or whatever?" Rose asks.

"Um, no, actually, we had a bit of an argument first. Then I told him it was my birthday and so he felt bad for refusing to sleep with me," I explain nonsensically.

"Wait…what?" Alice says, looking very confused. "You wanted to sleep with him and he said no?"

"OK, well, I…it just sort of…" I stammer while playing with the cardboard sleeve of my coffee cup.

"Spit. It. Out," Rose demands. She's looking at me like she has more effective methods than they do Gitmo for getting people to talk.

"I asked him to be my booty call in exchange for going to work parties with him," I spit out, rapid-fire-style.

"_You_ asked _him_ to be your booty call?" Alice repeats, her jaw hanging open.

"Uh, yeah. Look, I was a little drunk and we had such a good time at the party. Then, he'd flirt but if I flirted back it made him nervous—like when we kissed in his apartment," I say, remembering how awkward and angry I felt.

"Nervous, like he didn't like it?" Rose asks.

"No, like he didn't want to mess around, like it would lead me on or something," I say, rolling my eyes.

I take a few sips of my coffee as we sit quietly for a few minutes. The silence is beginning to bug me. It's as if they're as doubtful as Edward was last night. Alice is the first to speak up.

"So then what happened?" she asks.

"I told him I wanted this 'favor' since I do one for him. At first he said no. But then we talked some more, and he kept asking if I was sure I could do it—you know, just hook up but not date, I kept saying 'yes' and so he agreed.

"Seriously?" Rose asks.

"Seriously," I repeat, nodding my head. "I'm his 'stand-in date' and he's my 'stand-in boyfriend.' So we, um, started the 'stand-in boyfriend' part last night."

"Why does all the best stuff happen to you? Remember that raffle at the Spring Flight last year—you won a top-of-the-line iPod!" Rose whines, pouting her lips at me.

"Yeah, which I promptly dropped and broke a few days later. My luck is _not_ that great, Rose," I mutter back to her.

"So, did you do it with him?" Alice asks, but she looks very skeptical that my answer will be 'yes.'

"I was ready to but he said it wasn't a good idea, that we'd need to work up to it, since, you know, I still haven't done it," I explain, feeling like the last kid picked to play kickball.

"That was…sweet of him," Rose says, looking surprised. "Maybe this guy's not such a manwhoring dick after all. I mean, he could've just done it with you to get himself some ass, but he didn't."

"I do think he's a nice guy," I admit with a small smile. "I mean, I think my flirting with him was kinda weirding him out because he wants to think of me as a friend. So, it took me some a little while to convince him that we could be 'friends with benefits.' Thank _God_ for alcohol," I explain, sighing and letting my shoulders droop.

"OK, so you convinced him. What about you?" Alice asks, giving me that 'don't lie to me, missy' look.

"What about me?" I say back, unsure of what she means.

"Are you convinced you can be 'friends plus' with Edward?"

"Come on! I wouldn't insist on it if I wasn't," I protest.

They just stare at me.

_Fuck._

Their eyes are like God damned laser beams boring into my psyche. Their looks of pity mixed with doubt truly begin to feel like emotional assault and I just can't deal anymore.

"I DON'T KNOW, ALRIGHT?" I snap in a loudly raised voice. I'm angry and almost about to cry for some insane reason. I wish I knew what's setting me off exactly, but I think it's just the combination of their probing questions and their staring and me feeling like only _I_ would have such shitty friends who put me on the spot all the time.

I prop my elbows on the table and put my face in my hands.

"I can't decide from one minute to the next whether Edward is the man of dreams or the douche-bag of my nightmares. He just…ugh! I can't explain it," I ramble.

"Eh, well at least the two of you sound equally confused and fucked in the head," Rose surmises with a shrug. This very astute observation gets all three of us laughing, and when Alice _finally_ demands details of what exactly we did when Edward and I messed around, I'm all too happy, for once, to have a very graphic conversation about sex.

"Did he get all up in your nooks and cranies?" Alice asks, practically drooling.

"Um, yeah, you can say that. He…uh…went 'downtown' if you know what I'm saying," I confess sheepishly.

"Oooh! He _is_ a vagitarian! I knew it!" Alice squeals.

"But he went really slowly first. I was nervous and he could tell, so he just took his time, kind of kissing and touching me everywhere. It worked cos it drove me nuts," I admit, biting my lip.

"Wow, he really is smooth, isn't he?" Rose remarks.

"Not just that, Ro, I mean, what guy cares how nervous you are after flirting with you all night and then 'giving in?' This guy is growing on me, not gonna lie," Alice muses with a smile.

"True that. TNGUS is like a fungus," Rose jokes, snorting at her own cheesy punch line.

"Yeah, that he is," I agree, nodding my head and laughing.

"So, you return the favor there, Bella?" Alice asks with a wink.

"Um, I can neither confirm nor deny the occurrence of a dual shower in which I may or may not have provided some…uh…_manual stimulation_," I confess, darting my eyes from side to side.

"Holy shit, Bella touched a dick. Willingly?" Rose demands with heavy sarcasm.

"Yes, bitchface, willingly. It was _rather nice_," I say deliberately, talking out of the corner of my mouth in a funny voice. All three of us crack up at that foolishness.

Later that day, I get home after having dinner with my two friends (who insisted on taking me out for my birthday.) There's a small wrapped boxed sitting against my door. Smiling, I pick it up and read the little card stuck to the top, next to the frilly ribbon.

'_Happy Birthday, brown eyes.'_

Edward's door opens shortly after I knock.

"Hey birthday girl," he says with a smile as he moves aside and motions for me to come in. My hands are full because I still have his gift in one hand and another from Rose and Alice that I haven't opened yet either.

"Hi, I was thinking I could open this with you," I say as we take a seat together in his living room.

"Sure. I hope you like it. It was sort of a spur of the moment thing," he explains.

"Well, it was sweet of you nonetheless," I say with a wry smile as I tear at the gift wrap. I open the box inside and pull out a yellow plush toy. It looks like a curled up shrimp with no tail and fewer legs, with two giant brown eyes at the top. I must have a really perplexed look on my face, so Edward does some explaining for me.

"It's a bookworm—_anobium punctatum_," he says. "The, uh, actual parasite that eats paper. That's what it looks like as a larva."

"Aw, it's the cutest parasite anyone's ever given me. I mean, not literally, just as a gift," I clarify with a laugh as I hug it to my cheek.

"You're welcome. I have an appreciation for microbes. I thought I'd share it with you," he says with a grin.

"Aren't you sweet, sharing your microscopic bugs with me?"

"You can say a lot of things about me, brown eyes, and 'giver' is one of them," he flirts, quirking his eyebrow at me.

"Using cute little plush critters to flirt is really scraping the bottom of the barrel there, don't you think, Cullen?"

I look at my new plush friend and smile from ear to ear. This is just the sort of jokey yet appropriate gift my dad would've gotten me. Between the cocktails I had with my dinner and the realization that this is my first birthday without my father here to celebrate it with me, my eyes start to sting before I can stop them.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Edward asks, noticing the sudden change in my expression.

"Ack, I'm sorry," I offer, feeling embarrassed. "Just thinking about my dad and how much I miss him. I didn't mean to spoil the mood. It creeps up on me sometimes," I confess, my fingers nervously playing with the weird little legs on my bookworm.

"Don't be sorry," is all he says as he puts his arm around me. I rest my head on his chest, thankful for the warm, comforting spot he's offering to help me pull myself together. I feel his fingers in my hair, gently massaging my scalp. The heavy ache in my chest—the very physical manifestation of my broken heart over the loss of my dad that hits me now and again—slowly starts to dissipate.

I lift my head and smile, grateful that he's made me feel better, even without saying a word. I tell by the look on his face that he's worried, that perhaps he hasn't done enough. Edward does tend to look really out of his element when it comes to emotions, like the smooth talker in him suddenly goes mute and becomes really nervous.

"Thanks, I'm better now," I say. His expression changes to relief, and he smiles back at me.

"No problem."

"How come you don't really talk about your family?" I ask quietly. "I don't mean to pry, you don't have to answer if you don't want," I offer, embarrassed by my own nosiness.

He looks away and I can feel his body stiffen slightly.

"No, it's alright. There's not much to say, really. My mom died when I was fourteen. I never knew my dad," he answers simply.

"Did your parents split up when you were little?"

"No," he replies with a tense laugh. "They never really got together in the first place. I don't know too much about it, other than that my mom met a guy who was in town visiting some friends. They had a very brief tryst that resulted in me. All I know was that he was a med student and his last name was Cullen," he explains.

Edward has that same 'little boy lost' expression that I've seen a few times before. I want to comfort him, like he did me. My heart hurts a little for him—to lose one parent as a teenager is bad enough, but to lose the other because you never had him in the first place on top of that just seems like too much pain for one person.

I hug him as tightly as I can and kiss his forehead. I don't offer him any words because I don't think there are any that can adequately help, really. My dad meant the world to me, and I can't imagine what it's like to be deprived of a father figure. It must leave a hole that's too big for words to fill.

I wonder why Edward never looked for his dad or tried to have some kind of contact with him. Did his father even know Edward exists? I'm full of questions that I don't have the heart to ask—I don't want to rehash something that's an obvious sore subject for him.

He rests his head against my chest as my fingers fiddle with his absurdly disheveled hair. Now it's my turn to offer a quiet spot for him to gather himself together again as he did for me. We seem to be good at exchanging favors like this.

When he tilts his head up and kisses my chin, I can't resist him. Putting my hand on his cheek, his whiskers prickle against my thumb as I move it back and forth. I lower my lips to his and gently press into them. I'm beginning to really love the way his lips feel on mine. I'm beginning to love the way they feel everywhere on me.

"Who's the other gift from?" Edward asks after we kiss for a while.

"Oh, it's from Alice and Rose. They told me not to open it at the restaurant because I'd be embarrassed. Whatever it is, I'm sure it's mortifying. Those guys love to buy me insane things—sexual things."

That perks Edward right up. He pulls away from me a little to stare at the still-wrapped box sitting next to me, his face screaming 'open that sucker up, little girl.'

"I wonder what it is," he says with a sly grin.

"I don't know. Do you think I should open it, Edward?" I ask pointedly, mocking him playfully.

"Oh, I definitely think you should open it, brown eyes."

I take a deep breath as I begin to rip away the wrapping paper. Underneath is huge gift box assortment of adult toys—two different vibrators, a bottle of massage oil, warming lube, a blindfold, velvet handcuffs, flavored condoms, a feather, even a little leather paddle that makes me not just blush but wish that the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

"Oh God…this is…I don't…I want to kill them," I stammer.

"I want to thank them," Edward says wistfully.

"I can't keep this stuff. I can't even look at it."

"Actually, it's a fairly comprehensive list of school supplies, if you ask me," he says with a laugh.

"You would say that."

"Hey, you signed up for this course."

"I should've read the syllabus more closely."

"Too late. You passed the deadline to drop out. You wouldn't want a bad grade on your transcript, would you?"

"Damn you—playing off on my compulsive need to be an overachiever."

"I love that you're nerdy, brown eyes. It turns me on."

"Ugh, don't start. Listen, can you keep this twisted basket of sex goodies brought to me by the horny Easter fuck bunny?" I ask as we both stand up and I hand it to him.

"I would love to," he replies, taking the basket from me and putting it up on the back of the shelf in his hall closet.

"Hey, want to go grab a drink or something?" I offer.

"I can't. I'm on call. No drinking or really doing anything I wouldn't want to pull myself away from at a moment's notice. Don't you already have plans? It's still your birthday," he asks.

"Eh, my friends wanted me to come with them to a frat party but I hate those things. Not a fun birthday activity, not for me anyway. Besides, I don't really want to run into that Jake dude," I admit, chewing on my thumb.

Edward's face grows dark at the mention of Jake's name. He clearly does _not_ like that guy. Well, that makes two of us, because I'm not exactly fond of Jake either. Thankfully, I haven't run into him since that night Edward and I fought outside my apartment.

"Hey, you know you can always hang out here and watch a movie with me or something," he offers, all too eager to give me something else to do.

"Sure. I'll go downstairs and change into PJs, maybe make some kettle corn," I say, grabbing my purse and bookworm.

I come back a bit later, popcorn in hand, wearing my favorite Bad Badtz Maru PJs. Edward looks practically edible, even in a t-shirt and sweats.

"Cute jammies, brown eyes," he smirks.

"Thanks," I reply, wrinkling my nose at his disingenuous compliment.

We lounge on the couch, flipping through the channels on the digital cable until I catch a glimpse of _Adam's Rib_ with Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn about to start on the classic movie channel.

"Ooh, let's watch this, it's a great movie," I say, hoping he'll agree.

"Yeah, it is. I love old movies," he replies. I'm a little surprised. Edward doesn't seem the type to watch something that doesn't have gratuitous sex in it. I guess I don't know him as well as I think I do.

Munching on our popcorn, we laugh at all the fighting back and forth between Hepburn and Tracy—how they egg each other on, but at the same time, care very deeply for one another. I start to feel my eyes grow heavy as I stretch out and rest my head on Edward's lap. I doze off with the image of me in a silk blouse and pencil skirt, arguing with Edward, who's dressed in a pin-striped suit. We fling insults at each other as I cook him eggs and he replaces a light bulb above me.

I wake up the next morning, snug and warm in a nice bed. There's a body with its big, strong arms and legs around me, pinning me to the mattress and literally breathing down my neck.

_I'd know this smoosher anywhere. TNGUS._

"Good morning," I whisper softly.

"No…no share…mybrowneyes…kee way, mine…" he mumbles, practically squeezing the air from my lungs as he starts rubbing himself on my thigh.

_Jeez, even in his sleep he's a caveman._

"Edward, it's just me. It's Bella and I think you're about to cut off my oxygen supply," I explain, patting his back to rouse him.

"Hmmm?" he grumbles, his eyes still closed. His hand magically goes to my boob and starts fondling away.

"Wake up, horny toad," I snap, whacking the back of his head lightly.

"Ooof, I'm up. Jeez you're a grouch in the morning," he whines. Obviously, I didn't whack him hard enough because he's 1. still humping my thigh and 2. still tweaking my nipple.

"Will you stop with the groping and the grinding and the smooshing? I need to get out of bed, make us breakfast and then go do some work. I have a ton of reading to do and need to work on my thesis."

"I didn't hear anything you said except 'make us breakfast.' Get to it, woman!" he jokes, smacking my ass.

"Oh. My. God. Edward, do you like eating with teeth? Peeing through the…appropriate hardware? Want children one day?" I demand, my eyes blazing as I stare at him like I'm about to karate-chop him in the neck.

He shuffles himself away to the other side of the bed very quickly and mumbles an 'I was just kidding, sheesh…' before I grab my pillow, smack him over the head with it, and make my way into the kitchen to rummage for some eggs. I swear under my breath when I notice that the light bulb over my head is burned out.

That following Tuesday evening is the end of another long shift for Edward, so I again invite him over for dinner. We nap on the couch afterward like last week, but thank God there's no crotch cuppage this time.

I wake up to a dark room with Edward sprawled over me like usual. I swear I'm beginning to think he does this out of instinct—so I don't flee while he's unconscious.

_Not going anywhere, Caveward. No need to physically restrain me._

I can feel a certain 'unit' on my leg and it's giving me all kinds of ideas. I start to run my hands up and down Edward's chest and neck. Soon my lips start doing a little exploring—kissing his face, forehead, the tip of his nose, before finding his lips.

"I think someone is ready for lesson two," he says, his voice thick with sleep.

"Mmmhmm," I reply, continuing my kisses up and down his neck.

"Alright," he tells me, sitting us both up. We stretch and yawn a bit and wipe the sleep from our eyes. I get up and grab us both a glass of water before sitting back down next to him.

"Well, before you can be good at something," he begins, "you need to figure out what you really enjoy about it. Kind of like…food, for instance. Everyone likes food, but we all have preferences, right? And sometimes you're just in the mood for something in particular. Since you're kind of new to this, we're going to have sample a little bit of everything."

"Hmm, a buffet. I've always liked those. All you can eat?"

"With me, brown eyes—always."

"Til I'm _stuffed_?"

"Completely."

"Oh my."

He smirks that arrogant, knowing smile at me and my own butt betrays me. I get up when he holds his arms out, motioning me to sit on his lap. I lean back against him, my head resting on his shoulder. We watch TV for a bit, laughing at the silly sitcom playing out in front of us. I like listening to the deep laugh that echoes out of him, all masculine and rich sounding. Closing my eyes, I try to discreetly rub my nose into his neck, just to get a little sniff. He's very 'boy' smelling—like musk and sandalwood.

His hand gently strokes my abdomen and slowly travels up to my breast. I sigh when he cups it softly in his palm. I look up at his face and see him smiling at me. I smile back but have to close my eyes and bite my lip when his thumb plays with my nipple, making it stiff and achy.

"Today's lesson," he whispers into my ear, "is dirty talk." I swallow hard and blink several times. I'm not sure if I can do this without blushing a shade of red so bright, it's never before been seen by the human eye.

I think Edward senses my nerves because he soon clarifies what exactly he means.

"I won't touch you. I'll just talk. You do the touching. To yourself," he explains. "We'll work on talking and touching—to and with each other, as we progress."

_Oh Lord. I think I'm gonna pass out._

He lifts my face up by my chin and kisses me, slowly at first and then less and less gently. He puts his hand on my thigh to turn me so that I straddle his lap. His hands go up and down my back, then to my ass, groping it. It's all so good and yummy that I start moving against him, but he puts his hands on my waist to keep me still.

"I'd love to see what you're wearing under these clothes, brown eyes," he coos in my ear in a voice that puts me in a sort of trance.

_Can't think. Brain on auto-pilot._

I just nod my head and undo the top button of my jeans. I lower the zipper slowly and smile when he nods back. He fixes his eyes on my hand as it pulls my jeans open, revealing my thin lace panties.

"Mmm, nice. Very pretty," he purrs, staring at my boy shorts. "I bet your ass looks delicious in those. Take your jeans off for me, let me see," he urges. "Oh, and the shirt too," he adds. When he quirks his eyebrow and licks his lips, I'm just done for.

_Um, OK._

I climb off his lap and slide my jeans off, and then pull my shirt over my head, tossing them both aside. I stand there and shift my weight from one leg to the other, feeling a little awkward, like I'm on display. But Edward's words, once again, affect me deeply, empower me, and make me feel like a complete woman—smart, independent but also sensual.

"God, you're beautiful," he sighs, shaking his head. "You know," he begins, his voice becoming slightly serious, "plastic surgeons put an inordinate amount of time and effort into creating beauty artificially—through surgery, injections, laser treatments. Patients spend billions of dollars every year. But no matter how hard they try to perfect their techniques, no matter how many new concoctions they come up with—nothing can replicate what you have, brown eyes," he says, smiling at me as he gazes up and down, starting at my face, down to my breasts, all the way down to my feet and back up again.

_OK, that compliment makes me want to put on a June Cleaver dress, pearls, and a frilly apron so I can roast you a leg of lamb with mint jelly. While eight months pregnant with your baby. And barefoot._

"Thank you," I say softly.

I can't really control the urge to hug and kiss him, so when he motions for me to sit on his lap again, I nearly leap onto it, putting my arms around him in what must feel like it's practically a choke-hold, but he doesn't mind. At least he doesn't say so.

"How do you do that?" I ask, kissing his cheek about ten times as he laughs. The wine with dinner is making me a little giddy. Or maybe it's the incredible compliments. Who's to say? That is, who cares?

"Do what?" he asks, slightly confused.

"Say things like that, so earnestly, like you mean them?" I ask bashfully.

His face changes; he looks just a tiny bit annoyed. His brows furrow and his eyes get very serious suddenly.

"You think I didn't mean that?" he asks, tilting his head. I think I've offended him, even though I wasn't trying to.

"I thought, you know, since we're just friends that you wouldn't think of me like that," I explain. "I, uh, I didn't mean to sound like I don't appreciate it. It _was _one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me," I confess softly, looking down at my hands.

"Well, it is how I feel. I wouldn't be able to do this favor if I wasn't attracted to you," he says back, petting my hand with his fingertips as it lies awkwardly in my lap.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I answer, trying to make the tense moment between pass as quickly as possibly.

"Hey scruffy," I say, scratching his cheek. "Why am I in a bra and panties while you're still wearing scrubs?"

"Because I wouldn't look nearly as hot as you do in a bra and panties."

"Maybe not, but I think you'd be a really pretty girl. You're prettier than me with those eyelashes, cupcake."

"Cupcake? This is all beefcake, little girl."

"Let's see it, Charles Atlas."

He pulls his scrub shirt off and I have to admit, Edward takes pretty good care of the guns. His biceps, which he is now shamelessly flexing for me, bulge out so very nicely.

"Oooh, look at you, manly man," I exclaim with a coo, feeling up his arm.

"Well, what do you expect, there's a beautiful girl in her underwear sitting on my lap. It's bringing out the machismo in me," he boasts.

"Stop it. Foreign languages get me all hot and bothered. I'll combust into flames if you keep at it."

He just snickers and we kiss again, not really able to hold out much longer no matter how much we enjoy teasing each other. Frankly, I'm just worked up. It's been a few days since that first lesson and I'm badly craving some more of Edward's skillful teaching. We rub, stroke, and caress each other everywhere. I feel his hands on my backside as I straddle his lap again. I gyrate my hips against him to try and quench the ache between my legs, but he stops me.

"No, I want you to get yourself off. I want to watch you, brown eyes. You've got the sexiest little moans and I want you to make them for me."

I stop and look at him, once again simultaneously apprehensive, yet wildly aroused.

"Um, what should…I mean…" I ask, unable to finish my question.

"I'm just going to talk and you'll show me what you do when you're alone and…need relief," he murmurs in a husky voice.

I'm on his lap, my thighs on either side of his. His hand cups my cheek softly. I look into those eyes and the tension slowly seeps out of me like a leaky tire.

"Take off your bra, brown eyes, I want to look at you," he tells me.

I unhook the clasps quickly and ease my bra off my shoulders, tossing it on the floor. Edward stares at my chest and I can almost hear his mouth watering.

"Touch them," is all he says.

I skim my palms lightly over both breasts, my nipples responding quickly. My hands go down my stomach and back up again. I close my eyes as I pinch and pull on the taut pink flesh on my chest. I let my right hand trail slowly back down, not stopping this time, as it slides inside my panties.

"That's it. Show me how you touch yourself. Do you use one finger, or two?"

"Just one," I whisper, almost inaudibly.

"Do you put it inside you?"

I shake my head 'no.'

"I didn't think you did. I've seen your hymen. It almost looks like nothing's been inside you, except for something tiny, like when you start your cycle. Has anything else besides that ever been inside you, Bella?"

I shake my head 'no' again.

"Mmm, I'm going to have to be very, very slow and gentle with you, brown eyes. I think it's going to fucking torture me," he says with a deep laugh.

My hand softly strokes the wet, warm spot between my legs. I shiver a little when my middle finger rubs against my clitoris.

"Are you wet?" he asks. I nod my head.

"Let me see. Show me your hand."

I stop what I'm doing and hold up my palm toward him. He hisses when he sees my finger glistening with the evidence of my arousal.

"Fuck, you're so responsive for someone without a lot of experience. Go ahead and keep going," he urges. I close my eyes and put my hand back inside my panties, sighing softly when my finger finds that sweet spot.

"Do you think about anything when you touch yourself?"

"Yes, but not until recently," I say, confessing somewhat reluctantly.

"What do you think about?"

"You," I whisper.

"Jesus."

He doesn't say anything for a minute and I wonder if I did something wrong. It's only when I open my eyes that I realize that Edward is trying to compose himself.

"What am I doing to you, brown eyes?"

"You're…um…fucking me," I say, my own words exciting me wildly.

"I _will_ fuck you. Soon. And it'll be much, much better than anything you've ever fantasized about. I'll stroke in and out of you from every imaginable angle, as slow and as fast as you can possibly stand it. You'll get off like you never have in your life," he purrs.

"Oh God, Edward," I moan.

"You like that, thinking about me doing that to you? Does it make you want to cum right now?"

"Yes, I want to cum," I say, my voice pleading.

"Go ahead, love, rub that beautiful pussy until you cum," he urges, his words coming out like a growl.

"Yes, yes, yes," I chant, my hand moving against me wildly. My entire body starts to tingle and burn. Heat radiates out of me and I yell without consciously doing so, every muscle between my legs spasming, finally satisfying the intense ache that was slowly overtaking me.

"You're fucking exquisite when you orgasm," he tells me as I open my eyes. He puts his hands on my hips to steady me when he sees my body swaying from being so thoroughly spent.

"Thanks," I reply shyly. I hide my face in his shoulder. I need a minute to compose myself. I just masturbated in front another person while he said the most erotic things to me. A girl needs the chance to put herself back together after that. I love his compliments but I'm just overflowing right now—literally and figuratively.

"You know, I need to grab a shower or I'm the one who's going to burst into flames," he says into my cheek.

"Mine fits two people," I inform him. I realize that I just invited myself into the shower with him. _Again_.

"Oh, are you going to have your way with me like last time? Violate me?"

"Maybe."

"What if I ask nicely?"

"OK, you talked me into it."

And with that, he lifts me off his lap and smacks my ass. _Again_. So I whack the back of his head. Clearly, this guy needs to be reminded which of us wears the pants in this operation.

_He's just really, really good at talking me out of mine._

Later that night, I sneak over to my laptop and enter my Twitter status.

_What are you doing?_

_**BadKittyKillKil**__ Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it. Oh, and TNGUS is totes a FUNGUS and I'm invested. I mean infested. Whatevs._

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**Join me next time for another exciting installment...and yes...in TNGUSPOV. ;oP Thanks for reading. ::MWAH::**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello TNGUS fans. Thanks for joining me once again. And thank you for helping my story hit 2K reviews! You guys are all that **_**and**_** a bag of chips. Extra helpings of thanks and 'I'm not worthy's' to all the sweethearts who review each and every chapter. I'm sending TNGUS over to your house for a very thorough breast exam. ;o)**

**Thanks to my beta Nina, aka WriteOnTime, the Mark Ronson to my crack-head Amy Winehouse. I lubs yooooooo!**

**As promised, this chapter is in TNGUSPOV.**

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**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

"Ouch!" I howl as Bella elbows me in the ribs really, really hard. That's the third time now but I can't seem to get myself to stop what's provoking her to commit such violence.

"You deserve it! Stop doing that!" she reprimands as she sits perched on my lap. I have my arm firmly tethered around her waist so she can't get up. Even though my ribs are killing me, it's a small price to pay for the sheer glee I experience from teasing her mercilessly.

I scoop out another heaping spoonful of Ben & Jerry's from the carton and once again, I offer it to Bella by holding it just out of reach of her mouth. The second she's about to lean into the spoon, I yank it away and eat it myself. And then I laugh—very enthusiastically.

"You're the biggest jerk I know, Edward," she informs me, shaking her head. "Let me up or give me some ice cream."

"But it's fun making you angry," I say, kissing her neck with my cold lips.

"Hey, kissing me isn't going to distract me!"

"Maybe not, but it does make your nipples hard," I say, admitting my real motivation and ogling her breasts through her thin t-shirt.

"Oooooh!" she growls, taking the carton of ice cream and hurling it across the room.

"What'd you do that for?"

"If I can't have any, neither can you!"

"God, I love it when you get worked up."

"I. Want. To. Junk. Punch. You!"

"No you don't. How will I be able to do your little favor if I have a groin injury?"

She doesn't answer, she just growls again.

"Speaking of which, we should probably talk about birth control," I say, meaning to bring this subject up. I also would like to change the subject before she kills me.

Bella turns and scowls at me.

"Don't change the subject."

"I, uh, wasn't trying to," I offer. "It popped into my head. I keep meaning to bring it up."

She scowls at me some more.

"And I was trying to change the subject. OK, you can stop giving me the side-eye," I confess with a laugh. "I'm sorry I teased you with the ice cream. I'll buy you a whole new carton, how's that?" I ask, trying to make peace.

"No, not good enough," she replies, folding her arms and tapping her foot against my shin.

"Alright, instead of coming over for dinner next Tuesday after my shift, I take you out to dinner, how's that?"

"I pick the place?"

"You pick the place, brown eyes."

"Hmmm. Fine. I can agree to that."

"I'm forgiven?"

"You're forgiven. Until you fuck up again."

"Good enough for me."

"Big ice cream-hogging bully."

"Little rib-elbowing hellion."

"I can't stand you."

"I know you can't," I say, rather patronizingly, as I kiss her forehead.

"I have the perfect idea for birth control."

"Oh God, I'm afraid to ask," I reply, instinctively trying to cross my legs.

"Abstinence," she says plainly.

"Aw, I thought I was forgiven."

"I'm working on it. I have trouble with my self-actualization sometimes. Especially where you're concerned."

She can't keep a straight face any longer and we both start to laugh. We've fallen into this pattern where we can't really stay annoyed at each other for very long. Well, she can't stay annoyed at me. I rarely, if ever, get annoyed at her because she doesn't work as hard at getting under my skin as I do hers. I just can't resist goading her. It's amazing how entertaining it is.

"OK, let's be serious for a second. I have a bunch of samples of the pill if you want them, but you should have an exam."

She just shakes her head at me vigorously. I'm confused by her very quick and very vehement refusal.

"No to the pill, or no to the exam?" I ask.

"No to the exam."

"How come?"

"I just…I guess I can go. I've never gone before, but I've heard so many horror stories about how embarrassing it is. And it hurts. And I'd be naked from the waist down in front of someone I've never met before. Awkward."

"How about this—how about I give you the exam, well, without the pap, but you have to promise you'll go after you start having intercourse?" I offer.

"OK," she agrees after looking thoughtful for a moment. "Thank you, Edward." She looks sheepish, almost guilty.

"What's wrong, brown eyes?" I ask.

"Nothing. Just that sometimes I feel like you're entirely too selfish and immature and I don't even know how I don't strangle you. Then you do something really nice and you're a real friend to me. It makes me feel bad for thinking those other things about you."

"Nobody's all bad or all good. People are just who they are."

"I know, I should be more tolerant, is all."

I have to laugh at that. How could she possibly feel intolerant when all I do is egg her on?

"Brown eyes, you're way too serious. And entirely too hard on yourself. I deserve some of the things you think about me."

I let go of her waist so I can get up and toss out the ice cream. I come back to the couch in her living room to see her already sprawled out and yawning. It's time for the next part of my new favorite routine: dinner at Bella's after a 36 hour shift, followed by watching TV, and then a nap. If we have enough energy, we'll work in a little 'teacher-student' time afterward.

"Ready for a nap, brown eyes?"

"Yes. Since you come over so tired on Tuesdays, I usually end up working late on Monday nights cos I figure I'll probably nap the next day," she explains as I take my spot, sort of next to her, but mostly on top of her.

"We're like old people with our requisite naps," I say with a laugh.

"And with the bickering, don't forget the bickering."

"Yeah, we're like an old married couple," I joke.

That last comment takes us both by surprise, even me, and I'm the one who said it. We just stare at each other for a few seconds before laughing nervously.

"I mean, not that we'd be, you know, because, um, we're not…" I stammer, my tongue getting twisted before simply giving up on speaking entirely.

"Edward," she says with a sigh. "Just forget it. I knew what you meant," she adds, her mouth curving slightly into a small smile of consolation.

We don't talk for a while and I'm glad for the silence after feeling so intensely uncomfortable. I rest my head on her chest, my palm over her breast. Bella lets out a small 'hmph' when she feels my hand find its favorite resting place but she doesn't remove it. I rather enjoy fondling her as I fall asleep, it's quite soothing despite the fact that I never needed help falling asleep before.

I wake up as I have every Tuesday evening for the past few weeks now—to soft, light kisses to my face and neck, while warm little hands probe and learn the different parts of a man's body. Bella is learning everything I teach her very willingly and showing a passionate side of herself that is intense, erotic, and beautiful beyond description.

We've been enjoying touching with hands and mouths but still no intercourse so far. I admit I'm deliberately stalling for a few reasons. First, I'd like to give her the chance to be completely comfortable with her body (and mine, for that matter) before taking that last final step. Also, I don't want her to be nervous when we do it because it will only be more painful for her if she is.

And then there's always the real reason—I'm giving her more than ample time to reconsider and back out. I can't help but think she'll eventually regret that her first time was with someone she didn't love. In addition, it just feels wrong to let one thing lead to another while heavy petting on her couch and taking her virginity right there. She's a sweet girl who deserves something slightly more memorable.

"Mmm, Edward," she moans in my ear. "Can we move to your bed upstairs?" she asks.

"Sure. Meet there in fifteen minutes?"

"Perfect," she replies as I help her sit up.

She all but attacks me when I open my door exactly fourteen minutes later. I pick her up by her ass and she instantly wraps her legs around my waist. Necking and groping, we collapse onto my bed without the slightest pause. Bella is tugging at my scrubs top, trying to yank it over my head but my arms and hands are too busy going up her shirt to unhook her bra. We chuckle at how our impatience and desperation is only impeding progress.

"I'm ready," she says plainly as I kiss her neck.

"Ready for what?"

"You know. Ready. Can't we just use a condom?"

I stop and pull away from her slightly so I can look at her face. She's staring back at me with those wide eyes—they're so honest and true, it's fucking heartbreaking.

"Um, yeah. But brown eyes, can't we wait until you start the pill?"

"Why?"

"Because then…I don't know. Condoms break. It's better to use something more reliable," I lie. I'm not exactly certain when lying became so effortless for me when normally I'm loathe to be dishonest with the women I'm with.

"Didn't you use condoms with…um, your other…" she tries to ask, but her voice trails off.

"Yes. I always used a condom."

"So, why can't we just use a condom. I mean, you didn't really know if your other…'friends' used anything else, right?"

I knew she wasn't going to let this go. I decide to just bite the damned bullet and get to the real issue.

"Bella, are you sure you want to do this?"

"How many times are you going to ask me this question?"

"I'm just trying to look out for you."

"I know. And I keep telling you 'yes, I'm sure.' And I still am."

"OK. Would you be willing to make a small deal with me?"

"What kind of deal?"

"Let me give you a few months' worth of the pill, check you out, make sure you're healthy. Start the pill on the first day of your cycle and you'll be all set. We can try anytime after that. What do you think?"

"OK. That's only in a week or so. I'm expecting my period soon—tomorrow or the next day."

"One more thing."

"What?"

"Can we plan it? I mean, can we go to dinner first or something?"

"I have a question for you before I answer yours."

"Shoot, brown eyes."

"Are you the one losing his virginity? Should I light some candles, turn on some Kenny G? I wouldn't want you to feel used or taken advantage of," she says before laughing and trying to wrestle with me.

Oh good Lord. _The wrestling_. She started this just recently. She loves to wrestle with me—try to get me in a choke-hold, pin me, sit on me, _lock her legs around my neck_. It gives me a raging erection every time. She knows it does too, the devious little minx. She claims it's 'horsing around' like friends do with each other.

"Stop trying to pin me," I order, as she struggles to straddle my hips as I lie underneath her.

This is the most obvious and inconspicuous ploy to engage in frottage but I pretend not to notice. My dick isn't as good an actor as I am and immediately senses the close proximity of her vagina rubbing itself all over my crotch.

When she responds by lightly biting my neck, I close my eyes in an effort to compose myself, but before I know it, my hands are on her ass, encouraging her to grind against me faster and harder.

_What the fuck is wrong with me? I used to _always_ be in control in the bedroom. Not with this little bookworm. She gets whatever she wants, whenever she wants it. It's completely unacceptable but I just can't fight her._

"You're so hard. God, that feels nice," she sighs in my ear.

"Let's take a shower first this time."

"Why?"

"Because I need relief before you kill me."

One shared shower and an unbelievably fast hand-job later, Bella and I resume our activities on my bed, both of us freshly clean and very naked.

"Lesson three," I begin as I stroke her breast, "is Introduction to Pornography," I tell her with a wide grin. Her blush spreads, deep and red, across her cheeks. I knew she'd blush at that and it's fucking gorgeous.

"Don't be embarrassed, brown eyes," I tease. "A lot of people watch porn together as a form of foreplay," I explain. I've actually never done it before—I've never had the desire, but I get the distinct impression that Bella will find it _very_ stimulating. I also have a theory on how it may encourage her to lose certain inhibitions regarding fellatio, and I've been eager to test this theory.

Picking up the remote on my bedside table, I turn on the flat screen and cue up the DVD I put in the player while Bella was still downstairs. I have the sound turned way down in case the loud noises mortify her.

"Let's practice some dirty talk while we watch. What do you think? You're getting better at it. Not so shy like you were at first," I tell her, touching her cheek with my fingertips. She has her little fist in front of her mouth as she chuckles back at me and curls up on my shoulder. I love it when she looks at me like that—that mixture of innocence and sensuality, of curiosity and bashfulness.

I watch the TV as a couple start undressing each other and engaging in heavy petting. The woman unbuttons the man's pants and proceeds to get on her knees and give him a blow job.

I look over at Bella, expecting her to look turned off…but she's not. Her eyes are glued to the screen and she's starting to shift around, like she's getting…_aroused_?

_Yes. I knew this would work. Cullen, you're a fucking genius. Now to gently discuss it with her…_

"Hey," I whisper. "I can skip over this part if you want," I offer.

"No," she answers immediately. "I've never actually seen it being done before."

"Do you like it? Like watching it?"

"Yes."

I let my hand roam between her legs and I let out an audible groan when I feel how wet she is. It's all I can do not to roll a condom on and climb on top of her. I focus on caressing her instead.

"You're really wet from watching this."

"That's not why I'm wet."

"What's making you so excited?" I ask, slightly perplexed. She scoots her body up a little so she can whisper in my ear.

"I'm wet because I'm imagining doing that to you," she confesses.

_Oh my fucking holy hell._

"What do you want, brown eyes? Tell me, and you can have it. Whatever makes you feel good."

"I want you to…show me how to suck you," she asks, her eyes closed. The next word she says almost makes me pass out. "Please."

I have her kneel on the floor as I sit on the edge of the bed. Impulsively, I kiss the top of her head.

"You know all the spots where I like you to touch with your hand," I begin. "Now just use your mouth and tongue on the same places," I explain, looking down at her as she strokes me up and down with her hand.

"Um, like this?" she asks, licking my frenulum with the tip of her tongue. I gasp, not expecting her to hit the most sensitive spot right out of the gate.

"I'm sorry, did I do it wrong?" she asks sweetly, biting her lip. I almost want to weep—she's truly torturing me with her innocent misunderstanding of her effect on me.

"No," I reply with a nervous laugh. "You're, um, doing that a little too well, actually. Fellatio is a lot more exciting than a hand job. Just like for you, my going down on you probably feels more intense than when I use my hand."

"Um," she thinks for a second, "not when you use your index finger," she clarifies with a sly grin. "OK, so, I'm in need of a little guidance here, _professor_."

_Fuuuuuck._

"Alright, uh," I say, clearing my throat in an attempt to regain some composure. "Use your hand like you do in the shower—just don't grip as tightly. And then move your mouth with it," I explain.

She moves her hand and mouth in a steady rhythm just like I instruct her. I'm very, very glad to have gotten off in the shower earlier because I would be done by now otherwise.

"God, that feels fucking amazing," I tell her, biting my lip to keep from grunting like an animal and turning her off. But then I notice something that completely distracts me.

"Brown eyes, what's the matter? Why are your eyes closed? Is this too much for you? Because if it is, I don't want you to do it."

"No," she says, stopping for a moment. She looks at me sheepishly. "I was concentrating," she admits, giggling. "Are you going to hold my head like the guy in the porno?" she asks. "It actually would make it easier for me if you just guided me. I wouldn't have to concentrate so hard," she says, looking embarrassed.

I have to take a deep breath to get myself under control. She's _telling_ me to put my hand in her hair and control her movement while she sucks me off.

"OK, as long as you don't feel uncomfortable," I offer.

She smiles before taking me in her mouth again. I gently guide the back of her head with my hand, careful not to be forceful and scare her.

_Please look at me, my Bella. I want to look into those eyes that break my heart._

"If you can, look up at my face," I ask, hoping I'm not pushing her boundaries too much.

When she glances up, it's the most incredibly fucking sublime experience. Watching her eyes while I'm in her mouth almost makes my heart not just break, but stop beating entirely. I've never seen something so…_romantic_ before in my life. She is pretty, sexy, demure…beyond words…beyond my wildest imagination.

"Bella…while I can still form coherent thought…I need to tell you…don't _ever_, for one second, think you look dirty or crude or vulgar when you're in bed with me, no matter what we're doing. You're always absolutely pristine and unspoiled…stunningly beautiful. Never dirty…always perfect, brown eyes…always…"

And I mean every word of it. If I could take a picture of her face when she's climaxing, I would. I'd frame the fucking thing and keep it on my desk. If I could take a picture of her face right now, I'd hang it in the middle of bingo night at the local church.

She hums softly to show her gratitude as her lips and tongue continue to move up and down the length of my dick, not realizing that the vibration of her sounds only intensify the sensation.

"Oh fuck, that felt good, the humming," I groan. Teaching while getting a blow job has got to be the most insane form of multi-tasking ever attempted.

"Hmmm?" she hums again, as if to say '_this, this feels good? When I do this?_'

"Shit, yes, shit…if you don't want to taste cum, you should move. Now."

She doesn't move.

_If I didn't think I deserved this woman before, I truly believe it now._

"Uhn, God…your mouth!" I growl through clenched teeth. I hold her head still with my hand as I cum. Her expression changes as she feels me jerk against her tongue. I'm sure she finds the taste disagreeable but she doesn't pull away or gag.

My eyes roll up in my head of their own volition just as my body tenses up for the last time. I fall back on the bed with my legs hanging off the edge. Bella climbs up and settles herself next to me, resting her head on my chest.

"Thank you," I murmur, still trying to catch my breath.

"You're welcome. Not what I thought it would be like—quite the opposite, in fact."

"Yeah?" I ask. I can only form short sentences at the moment.

"I always thought it would be like the guy was using me to get off and controlling my body to do it. It's not like that, not at all. In fact, I felt like I was the one in control—giving you something because I wanted to. It was way more erotic than I'd imagined," she explains in a soft voice.

"Brown eyes, you never cease to surprise me. I was afraid that would be a turn off for you and I didn't want you to do it just because you felt you owed it to me or that I'd be disappointed if you stopped."

"Pshh," she snorts. "I don't like you enough to do something that grosses me out just to make you happy, Edward. Please!" she exclaims, rolling her eyes.

"You mean you wouldn't just _suck_ it up…not even for me?" I pout.

"You are GROSS!" she snaps, smacking my arm. I laugh at her childish indignation. "And as usual, sooo full of yourself," she adds.

"Oh, I beg to differ. If I remember correctly, _you_ were very full of me just now. Very, very full," I joke with a perverse snicker.

"Cullen, there's a fair chance that was the first and last blow job I'll ever give you at the rate you're going."

"Aw, brown eyes…come on, don't be like that. Surely I'm not that difficult to…_swallow_."

"Listen, asshat, Austin Powers called. He wants his juvenile double entendres back."

"I think we need to explore roleplay. I get aroused when you're horrible to me. Clearly, that makes me a masochist for you. Let me go get that basket your friends gave you for your birthday. You can use that leather paddle on me."

She sighs and rolls onto her side, her back to me.

"I'm too tired to put up with your nonsense," she grumbles.

"Mmm," I hum as I kiss the back of her neck and spoon against her. "How about you just lay there and I give you a little a send off into dreamland?" I ask, snaking my arm around her waist and pressing the flat of my palm against her lower abdomen. I let my hand trail down between her legs and meet no resistance when my fingers coax her thighs apart slightly to make room for my hand's gentle probing.

"Edward, you send me lots of places. But this one's my favorite," she purrs softly.

About three minutes and ten chants of '_oh God, Edward_,' later, Bella is asleep and I'm just about to doze off myself when I have my last conscious thought of the day.

_I've had more intimate encounters with brown eyes than any other woman I've been with before._

It's still really early but I wake up the next morning after having another of my very vivid dreams about Bella. I've now had so many of them that they have quite a breadth of variety. This particular one is my favorite. In it, I am _actually_ a caveman, fur loin cloth and all, and I'm giving Bella the once-over with my _club_, doggy-style.

"What are you doing?" she asks me.

"Admiring you before I get down to business."

"You're admiring me…from down there?"

I see that I've woken her up when I slid down towards the foot of the bed to put my head between her legs. She could wake up to worse things.

"Not just that, brown eyes, I'm admiring _what's_ down here. Your vagina."

She lets out a long, loud huff.

"What about it? Can it do magic tricks or something?"

"No, it's just adorable. And I've seen a lot of them."

"Adorable? Only _you_ would describe someone's vah-jay-jay as 'adorable,' Edward."

"But it is. I mean, it's the perfect color, shape, everything. It's even completely symmetrical. That's not very common, you know."

"Wow. I had no idea."

"It's true. It's quite aesthetically pleasing."

"Aesthetically pleasing?" she repeats with a laugh.

"Yes, like a work of art. It reminds me of the Mona Lisa."

"Because you can't tell what it's thinking?"

"No, wise guy. Because it's beautiful."

"So…what, you're the DaVinci of da vagina?"

"You're being horrible to me again and it's getting me entirely too aroused. I'm going to get that paddle now."

"Would you please look at my face while you're talking? It's really strange to watch you converse into my cooter like it's going to answer you back."

"Maybe it doesn't talk, but I can make it sing," I argue with a smirk as I kiss the tip of her clitoris.

"Yeah, it's gonna sing you show tunes, Edward," she replies with a laugh, my kiss tickling her. "Speaking of singing, my bladder is about to start doing Gene Kelly's routine from _Singing In The Rain_ soon. Let me up, you brute," she jokes.

"OK, but come right back."

"Why?"

"I need to, uh, look under the hood so I can give you those pill packs."

She grumbles about not wanting to be poked and prodded but nods her head anyway. When she returns, I give her an abbreviated pelvic exam as quickly and painlessly as possible.

"Edward," she says softly as my hands softly palpate her lower abdomen.

"Hmm?" I reply, focused on examining her.

"You're being very gentle and sweet. Thank you," she murmurs.

"You're welcome, brown eyes," I reply as I finish and lower her knees back down and bring her legs together for her. She puts her arms out and I eagerly take her up on her unspoken offer to curl up with her for a bit before we have to start our day.

"Do I get a clean bill of health, doctor?" she asks.

"Yes, you do. I'll send you a bill later."

"I knew you couldn't last with the nice guy routine for very long."

"Nope. I can only pretend to be nice for short bursts of time."

"It makes liking you extremely difficult, you know."

"You don't need to like me, just put up with me."

"That I can do."

"OK, so dinner next Tuesday? Let me know where you'd like to go. I'll end my shift a little early that day so I can nap and shower before we go. How's that?"

"Awesome. I'll think about where I'd like to go and text you later."

"Excellent."

"Hey, if I start the pill and it's effective by then…can we…maybe take this favor to the next level after dinner?" she asks sheepishly.

I'm completely out of my mind all of a sudden. I want to scream _NO_ at the top of my lungs but I realize that I just can't stall any longer.

"Sure, brown eyes. If that's what you want. Whatever makes you happy," I offer genuinely.

_Because God knows I'm slowly becoming addicted to seeing you and making you that way—happy._

Later that day, I have a break at the hospital and quickly go to the lounge to use the public PC to check email and Twitter. Of course, I can't stop myself and read Bella's tweets. The last one makes my mouth instantly go dry and my groin start to ache.

_**BadKittyKillKil**__ Bad news: AuntFlo just came 2 town. Boo! Good news: AuntFlo just came 2 town. Yay! Keep thinking of exprsn CUNextTuesday! Clearly meant 2 b._

_

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_

**Dun dun dun! Tune in next time for another episode of TNGUS. Once again, this bad boy's a two-parter so the next installment will once again be in TNGUSPOV.**

**Translation of Bella's tweet: "There's bad/good news. I got my period. I keep thinking of the expression 'C U Next Tuesday'! Clearly it was meant to be." C U Next Tuesday forms the acronym C.U.N.T., which is a sneaky/snarky way to call a woman a bad name. Here, Bella uses it as a play on words because next Tuesday, someone will be 'seeing' hers up close and personal. ;o)**

**One last order of business: please check out the story that I beta for the very talented DragonsExist called **_**Punch Drunk**_**. It's different, delightful and delicious. Go to www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net(slash)s(slash)5234083 to read this wonderful fic. Please leave her some love as well. Thanks! ::mwah::**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey! Welcome back. Thanks for joining me once again. I can't tell ya how happy it makes me to see all your awesome reviews. As Molly Shannon would say, I feel like a SUPAHSTAH!**

**Thanks, as always, to my mo' bettah beta, Nina, aka WriteOnTime. Do you read her fic Breaking News? Seriously, if you don't, Imma go Slap-a-Ho Nation on you. Frealski. She makes my banter want to be **_**her**_** banter when it grows up. READ IT! The link is www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net / s / 5424559**

**When we last left TNGUS, he was getting a little hot under collar and a lot swollen behind the zipper because Bella brown eyes wants him to get all up in her lady bsns already. Seriously, can you blame her?**

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**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

"Cullen, you need to get a grip," I mutter to myself as I rub my eyes with heels of my palms.

I'm standing in front of my closet, looking for something to change into before picking up Bella for the dinner out I promised her. I'm fresh out of the shower—where it thankfully didn't take long for me to abuse myself like a pimply teenager. I'm beginning to resent all the masturbation I've been driven to committing, especially since I pride myself on never _needing_ to do it. Why jerk off when I can be serviced by an all-too-willing sexpot from my extensive list of little black book entries?

_Because that booty call would shrink my wood faster than a call from my grandmother._

I wish I knew when it became clear to me that my past exploits lost their charms. It just sort of snuck up on me, really. I know I agreed in a moment of haste to have Bella be my lone 'pupil' (so to speak), but how much time could it really take away from being with her if I just casually met up with someone from my BlackBerry contacts for an hour or so? I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Thinking of other women simply didn't turn me on. It was like someone flipped a switch in my libido and it now only responded to Bella.

_Bella in her bra and panties. Bella moaning and crying out while she cums her head off. Bella with my dick in her mouth. Bella sitting on my lap in the early morning before work, reading the paper out loud to me while I eat the eggs she's made._

But more than that…I have to admit it…I couldn't really go through with being with anyone else for some other reasons besides my cock being a Benedict Arnold-like traitor.

_You can't lie to her. You can't scam her. You can't do something that might upset her or hurt her._

And so there it is. Out in the plain, open expanse of my conscious psyche. I can't be an asshole to her because the idea of causing her pain makes me feel like I'm about to vomit.

"You're just taking a woman out to dinner, for Christ's sake," I mutter as I snatch a tie and dress shirt off their tie rack and hanger. I decide to go with just a plain white Oxford and one of my favorite black ties with silver and white diagonal stripes. I throw on some black khakis and my favorite old pair of Docs that I've had since college and force myself out the door.

I'm so nervous; you'd think I was the one losing his virginity. It's as if I'm waiting for a last-minute reprieve from the governor to spare my life.

_When did getting laid become so absurdly complicated? Edward Cullen does NOT say no to pussy. Ever. _

With that little internal pep talk, I'm out of the apartment and downstairs, knocking on Bella's door. When she opens it, I take one look at her and any hesitation or skepticism I had toward being with her evaporates from me.

"Hey, Edward," she says bashfully, no doubt feeling self-conscious about being so dressed up.

"Hi, brown eyes. You look really amazing," I tell her, just so I can watch her blush—and because it's true.

"Thanks. I like your tie," she replies, gently straightening the knot. Without even really thinking, I grab her hand and kiss her wrist. She smiles at me before pulling her hand away.

"Come on, let's go before I decide to just order a pizza," she complains.

"Now why would you do that?" I ask with a smirk.

"Oh, like you don't have any earthly idea what I mean—showing up in that tie, smelling like 'boy' and kissing my wrist because you know it makes me insane. I'm on to you, Dr. Smooth," she accuses, squinting her eyes at me and pursing her lips.

"See, now you're not helping the situation at all," I reply as I run my thumb back and forth across those puckered, soft lips. She's not wearing lipstick, which she knows makes _me_ insane. I love it when her lips are naked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're being all irritated and feisty is making me want to order pizza too."

"Watch it. I'm going to start being nice just to annoy you. God, how weird is that?"

"Not any weirder than treating you to dinner because you threw your own carton of ice cream across the room."

"Touché, Edward. Your logic is masterful."

"Come on, mistress, before I get out the paddle," I warn playfully as we make our way outside and into the cold fall air.

"I'm starting to like the idea of hitting you. Seriously, I can see the appeal."

"You'd use the paddle on me? Stop talking like that, we're in public for God's sake," I groan (mostly playfully) as I lead her down the street.

"Um, sure I would. I'd crack you over the head with it. So, yeah, not sure if that's what you'd be expecting…"

"You're never what I expect. It's what I like about you."

"Stop trying to flatter me. I'm here, aren't I?" she teases with a smile.

"Fine, you're horrible, mean…and in no possible, conceivable way, could you look amazing and very fucking sexy in that tight sweater. I can even tell how cold you are," I say with a smirk before dodging out of the way of her hand as she tries to smack me.

"I really am a masochist where you're concerned."

"But I'm not a sadist. I'm a nice person, actually."

"So, what does that make _you_, brown eyes, the fact that you like hanging out with a masochist?"

"Just really, really stupid," she says, screwing her face up at me.

"Come on, slowpoke," I grumble, grabbing her ice-cold hand. "You'll freeze before we get there," I add, practically pulling her down the street.

"Is this place OK? I know it was my choice, hopefully you like it," she says as we walk inside _Chez Henri_, a nice little French restaurant that's within walking distance from the brownstone.

"Actually, I've been here before," I explain, as we take our seats at the little corner table I was assured we'd be given when I made our reservation.

"Sorry, uh…I didn't realize," she stammers, awkwardly shifting in her chair. She's most likely assuming that I'd been here with other _female companionship_.

"I've been here with a woman. But not like you're thinking. It was my grandmother."

"Oh, OK," she laughs nervously. "I mean, I wasn't upset or weirded out or anything—that you'd go here, you know, with friends. Just…um…took me by surprise."

"Nope. No friends. Just family."

"So, your grandmother—does she live nearby?"

"Yeah, I moved her out here when I started med school. She couldn't live independently anymore, so she's in an assisted living facility outside the city."

"That was nice of you, to make sure she's taken care of."

"Not really. There's no one else to do it, and I'm the trustee of her estate. It's my responsibility to do those things," I explain, a little too tersely.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," she answers quickly, knotting her fingers together.

"It's fine, I'm the one who brought her up in conversation. It's not a big deal. I'm just not close with my mom's family."

"Is that good or bad?"

I shrug my shoulders as if to say 'neither, really.'

"I just didn't really know them at all until my mom died. Even after that, I never lived with them. I went to boarding school, then college."

"Where'd you go to school?" she asks, hoping to change the subject.

"I went to Andover, then Yale."

"That's some blue blood you must have there," she says with a smirk.

"Not really. My mom's family was pretty wealthy, that's all."

"Was?"

"Yeah," I say with a sigh. "She didn't have any siblings, or any other kids besides me…so I'm the last of the Masens. I had the estate attorneys sell all the remaining interests in the family business and just keep everything else in a trust."

"Was it a really big company? What did they sell?" she asks, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"No, not that kind of company. It's a law firm that was started in Chicago a long time ago."

"Wait…did you say _Masen_? As in _the_ Masen law firm—the one all the Harvard Law grads salivate over to get hired by? That's the biggest law firm…in the _world_," she says incredulously.

I shrug again. Honestly, I couldn't care less about the Masens or their law firm.

"It's just money, brown eyes. I didn't earn it. I didn't even spend a dollar on a lottery ticket to get it."

"I know the money doesn't mean much to you. I just…that's a huge deal, being from a family like that and I never knew that about you."

"It's not that big a deal to me. I don't talk about it a lot. I mean, the money did get me pretty far in life—at least in terms of my education, and obviously it helps a lot not to have to worry about finances. But I only use what I need. My Vanquish is my one splurge. The rest goes to living expenses or stays in the trust."

She nods and takes a sip of her water.

"Sorry if talking about this makes you uncomfortable," she offers.

"No, it's fine. I just don't bring it up because, honestly, there isn't much to say."

"Good. I'm just trying to get to know you better. Despite the fact that you make me insane, I do like you."

"I thought you liked me because I make you insane."

"Does everything have to have a sexual connotation with you?"

"No, it doesn't. But it should," I say with a grin. She looks at me like she's really annoyed for a few seconds, but when I give her my best puppy dog eyes, she snorts at me and shakes her head.

"I don't know what's worse, Edward—the fact that you use every sneaky, yet totally childish and predictable trick in the book, or the fact that I fall for some of them," she says with a sigh before grabbing my hand and playing with my fingers.

I just stare at her, unable to tease her when she makes these little admissions to me—frankly, I can't really think straight when she does. It makes me want to tell her to always confess things, to always reach for my hand to fumble with it because she's nervous and doing that makes her feel better.

We're quiet for a few minutes until the waiter brings us a wine selection and tells us about the _prixe fix_ menu for the evening. I manage to have most of the conversation in French, a language I studied all through boarding school and excelled at even more when I spent a semester in France.

Our waiter leaves and I notice that Bella is staring at me with a very amusing look on her face. I'd know the expression she's wearing anywhere, and it makes me chuckle.

_She is so aroused right now, it's fucking ridiculous._

I lean in close to her, our tiny round table making our physical proximity downright cozy. Planting a few nibbles on her neck, I put my lips to her ear and whisper to her.

"Do you like that—hearing me speak French? Hmm, _yeux bruns_?"

"Edward, I know French. I took French for a million years in school. I even went to Provence one summer with my parents. What you were speaking now wasn't _just_ French. My high school French teacher Monsieur Ketchner spoke French…no. That right there—that was your tongue just advertising…what it can do to me…" she muttered, half in frustration, half in longing.

"Would this make it better?" I ask, slipping my hand on her thigh.

"Only if we eat really, really fast and run home," she says with a laugh as our waiter brings the first course.

We walk back to the brownstone after dinner and as usual, I pretty well have to drag Bella down the street. I'm not in any rush—far from it, actually. I just have so much nervous energy that I speed back home, walking as fast as I can.

"You walk too fast," she complains at me.

"You walk too slow."

"Thank you for dinner, by the way," she says as we walk up to my apartment. I unlock the door and motion for her to walk in ahead of me. I watch as Bella heads straight to the bedroom, sitting down at the very edge of the bed. I take a couple of minutes to decompress and warm up, even throw some wood into the fireplace in the corner. I notice Bella is chewing on her thumbnail. It's a really easy way to tell when she's anxious. Her anxiety and embarrassment are about the only things I can consistently pick up on.

"You're nervous, Bella. This is why I wanted to wait."

"Edward," she says with a heavy sigh. "Listen, please. How can I _not_ be nervous doing something I've never done before? You want to wait until I feel something that I just can't, not given the circumstances."

"You wouldn't be nervous if you were in love."

"How do you know that? I've never been in love. Have you?"

"No."

"Then please tell me how you know what you're talking about."

"I don't know for sure. I just…you deserve better."

"Can you stop saying that? It insults us both."

"How does it insult you?"

"Because I know what I deserve. And stop saying there's 'better' out there, like you're some kind of punishment to endure or consolation prize to be disappointed with. You are neither of those things."

"You really don't think you could be doing this—sleeping with a man for the first time—in a more ideal situation?"

"What, like with Prince Charming? Brad Pitt? What the hell is 'ideal,' anyway?"

"How about with an actual boyfriend who cares about you?"

She freezes instantly and just stares at me blankly. My words have hit a nerve.

"You don't care about me? What the fuck are you saying?"

"That's not what I meant. Of course I care about you."

"Then can we stop arguing now?"

"But we haven't really resolved anything."

"Of course we have. You just said it yourself."

"Said what?"

"You said you care about me. What more is there to discuss?"

"Brown eyes…" I begin, but she interrupts me.

"Please, no more talking. I'm tired of talking. If you care about me, show me…don't tell me," she urges, wrapping her arms around my neck and her words around my soul—the soul I never really knew I had, until now.

_I can't push this to the back of my mind any longer. I might be a seducer, a Lothario, a player. I might be a man who knows every last inch of a woman's body and how to entice it towards physical ecstasy. But I have no idea how to love a woman. She knows that._

"I can't teach you that, brown eyes. I can't teach you lovemaking."

"I know. Let's pretend, just this once. Like…um...you know, roleplay."

"You want to roleplay—that we're in love with each other?"

"Why not? We can be like a couple in one of those old black and white movies. They were always in love, sometimes despite all logic and reality."

"So, are we Hepburn and Tracy?"

"No," she says with a laugh. "Not ridiculous enough. How about Jimmy Stewart and Carole Lombard? They were in a movie about a couple who get married after one day."

"Yeah, that's pretty ridiculous," I agree, laughing with her.

"Come on, let's be ridiculous for a little while," she coaxes, holding her palm against my cheek.

I kiss her softly, knowing that there's no use putting up a fight. I can't not give her what she wants—not tonight, of all nights. If this favor demands that she feels loved for a few hours, I'll give her that. I'll go through with this absurd roleplay if it makes her happy.

"So we just got married, huh?" I ask, undoing the little pearl buttons on her blue sweater.

"Yes, indeed. We just got home from City Hall. We're just a couple of lovesick fools, you and me," she says with a bashful smile.

"Well, congratulations, brown eyes. Or, um, 'Mrs. Cullen,' I guess," I say, scratching the back of my head awkwardly.

"Thank you. Congratulations to you, too, Mr. Cullen," she replies, loosening my tie and slipping it from my neck. She looks beautiful doing that with just a lacy pink bra on.

We're standing, facing each other, by the foot of my bed. I kiss her neck and run my hands up and down her back as she fumbles with the buttons on my dress shirt.

"I love it when you touch me, uh…sweetheart," I whisper as her hands find their way inside my open shirt, her fingers brushing against my chest.

"I love touching you…baby," she whispers back.

"What do you want, my brown eyes? Tell me, and you can have it. Whatever makes you feel good."

"Make love to me, my Edward."

My fingers glide up the back of her skirt, easily finding and lowering the zipper until the entire thing falls to the floor around her ankles.

"I want nothing more than to make you feel what you mean to me, little girl," I murmur, lowering the straps of her bra and kissing along the outline of her shoulder as I peel the article clothing off of her.

I'm finding the right words to say remarkably easily—they find their way out of my mouth with almost no effort at all.

"You're so good to me…kind, tender," she coos as she pulls my face towards hers and kisses my forehead sweetly.

"I can't be any other way with you. Can't even bear the thought of not giving you everything. I don't know why you want what I have because it'll never be enough, but it's yours now, sweetness," I confess as I ease her down on the bed and lie next to her.

Small fingers work at undoing the button and zipper at the front of my khakis. I moan at her impatience while at the same time willing my brain to shut down its doubt, reticence, logic, and caution. Any hope it had of Bella changing her mind at the eleventh hour is extinguished by…a shitload of desire, a primal urge to claim her as my own, and just the need to pretend right along with her. This need is no doubt the direct result of my guilty conscience—knowing that I shouldn't be doing what I am now: taking what I didn't earn, letting Bella convince herself that this is the best she can do.

_I have no soul, but she makes me forget._

"Edward," she whispers, slipping tiny hands inside my boxers and caressing me. "Your body…to touch you like this, nothing compares to it, my love."

"I belong to you now. My body, my heart—it's yours, Mrs. Cullen."

_Not that I really have a heart either._

I gently ease her panties down her legs and off her feet, kissing every inch of skin as I go. I strip off the last of my own clothing and toss it onto the floor. When I move back up the length of her body, I see her face. Her eyes watch me expectantly.

I'm not Casanova, or Jimmy Stewart right now. I'm all three of Dorothy's companions in _The Wizard of Oz_. I'm the Tin Man with no heart, the Scarecrow with no brain and the Cowardly Lion with no courage.

"Come here, husband," she urges with a smile, pulling my forearms toward her. I'm distracted from my negative thoughts and just let her sweet pretending take over, ease my reservations.

She kisses the left side of my chest.

"Beautiful man," she tells me, "with a beautiful heart."

Next, she kisses my temple lightly.

"With a beautiful mind."

Bringing both my palms to her face, she presses them against her cheeks as she leans her forehead to mine.

"And a beautiful soul."

She looks into my eyes for a few seconds, a light smile playing across her face. She turns and puts her lips to my ear. Her whisper is so soft, I almost don't hear it.

"You don't show your soul to anyone, but I can see it, hear it. It lives in your eyes, Edward. And it's beautiful."

"I don't know what to say that could compare to that, love. Just know that I'll remember that for the rest of my life. Thank you," I whisper back. I stare at her chin because I can't really look her in the eye. We're quiet for a minute, just softly touching one other and saying with our hands and lips what words cannot.

"Need you, need to feel you, touch you, taste you, please Edward," she moans before kissing me. Her hand wraps around my erection and moves up and down slowly, tortuously.

"Brown-eyed Bella, like a pretty flower," I coo as I tease her nipple with my fingers. "Will you open for me, bloom while I'm on top of you, inside you?" I ask in a low voice. I'm almost desperate for her to be ready for me because I have to have her now. I need for her to need me.

My tongue makes small circles around her areola, making the skin prickle and pucker. I clasp her nipple lightly between my teeth before sucking it eagerly and groaning at the sight of her eyes rolling up and her back arching.

"Edward, you make me feel so good. You make everything feel good," she sighs as she tangles her fingers into my hair and presses herself into me.

_Fuck, I love it when she's impatient, wanton, lascivious. She's gorgeous when she's practically begging to get off, oozing with raw lust._

When my hand finds its favorite place to play between her legs, she gasps and moves her hips along with the motion of my fingers stroking her.

"Are you going to cum for me, sweetness? Make those beautiful little noises only I can get you to make?" I ask, hoping to excite her more, bring her closer to the point of no return.

"Yes, love, just for you," she moans before her voice becomes a small whimper. I watch her face as her jaw slackens and her brow furrows slightly. I tease her nipple with my tongue and teeth but don't look away from her face for even a second. Soon her breathing and movements reach a pace I easily recognize as a signal that she's very close to climax.

"Look at me, baby girl. I want to see my wife's beautiful eyes when she cums," I tell her.

"Edward," she gasps in a tiny, fragile whisper. "God, yes, love. Yes," she murmurs as she looks right at me, her expression so delicate and subdued. I can feel her rhythmically tensing and relaxing against my hand. Our eyes are still locked, but she grabs my hand, bringing it up to her face. Still watching me, she puts my finger in her mouth and sucks it clean.

_Oh Jesus, I…shit. I can't even think straight._

"Fuck, I need you, baby girl. I need you so badly," I moan.

"Then come take me," she urges, pulling my arms so that I have to shift my body on top of hers.

The primal part of me takes over—a beautiful, soft, warm, naked woman underneath me shuts away everything else. I _need_ her now. My cock, stiffer than it's ever been in my life, can no longer be ignored as I shift her thighs apart, placing myself between them.

Rubbing the head of dick against her clit, she moans and writhes in response and she looks so incredibly fuckable, it's enough to make me insane with lust—enough to be turn me into a savage. A monster. I want so badly to be inside her, pounding away furiously. But I can't rush because I don't want to hurt her—not just physically, but I want her to have an experience she can look back on with happiness.

"Please, my love," she whimpers, her warm little hands on my hips, urging me forward.

"I should put on a condom," I say, trying to lean over to my bedside table drawer.

"No, no. Just you. I just want you," she replies, her eyes wide, her head tilted.

"Are you sure? I'm healthy, and so are you, obviously," I confirm, kissing her forehead lightly.

"Just you and me, Edward," she says with a smile.

"Whatever you want, brown eyes. You know I can't say 'no' to you," I tell her, smiling back. My hands grip her tiny waist, pulling her down so I can position her body correctly.

"One last time, baby," I want to ask, but she interrupts me.

"Yes, even in my heart, I'm totally sure," she replies, reaching up to stroke my cheek.

I nod, taking a deep breath, and slowly pushing into her. Using my fingertips, I gently massage just underneath where I'm about to enter her to relax the muscles there. The less tense she is, the less it will hurt.

"If I hurt you, you have to tell me. I may not notice otherwise. Please," I ask, lowering my body on top of hers. She smiles and nods.

"Just take some deep breaths, try not to tense up, brown eyes," I whisper as I press myself against her more forcefully now. She gasps when I finally stretch her open enough to pass the head of my cock through.

"Oh. _Oh_. I can feel you," she says, looking surprised. "I can feel you…inside me," she repeats, her hand quickly covering her mouth. "It's…Edward…it's really nice," she voice raspy. I notice her eyes turning red.

"Bella, are you crying? I'll stop. Please don't be sad," I say quickly, ready to pull out of her and smother her in a bear hug like I usually do when she's upset. It's the only thing I can think of doing when she's like that and for some reason, it usually works.

"No, don't stop! It's going to hurt no matter what. I'm just being emotional," she replies, smiling at me again and shaking her head. "Please keep going," she reassures me as she wraps her arms around my torso, hugging me close.

I push harder now, finally breaking her hymen enough that I can get all the way inside her. Keeping my mind on being careful, gentle, and slow has sufficiently distracted me from how fucking incredible this all feels. Thank God I have something else to think about or this wouldn't have lasted long enough to be memorable for either of us.

Slipping my arms underneath her, I pull her close to me, not letting go of the hug she's keeping me in. We're both still for a minute, save for the rise and fall of our breathing.

"Edward, it only hurts a little, you can move, keep going," she whispers.

"But I want you to enjoy it, baby girl," I tell her.

"See, such a beautiful heart you have, my loving husband."

"Thank you, Mrs. Cullen. You make me what I am."

I kiss her tasty pink lips as I move in and out of her. It's all so incredible—how she feels, the sound of our bodies sliding against each other, the smell of her chocolatey scented skin, the taste of her mouth on mine. The ache in my groin is now a full-on fire and I know I'm going to cum soon.

I try to ease my hand between her legs but she stops me.

"No, it's OK. You don't have to," she says. "It's always about me…but this time…I want you to take instead of give. You can…take…from me. I want you to, my love. Take from me."

"God…I don't deserve you," I choke out, my orgasm seconds away.

"Of course you do, you're so good to me, baby," she coos, rubbing her cheek against mine. "Beautiful Edward, God…" she sighs, rocking her hips with mine.

"Bella brown eyes, so sweet and perfect…I…Christ…my Bella…I…I love you," I groan as I cum inside her.

_Shit, I forgot we were roleplaying. Wait. Isn't that something I should have said if we were roleplaying? But…she'll think I didn't mean it. Which of course is true, actually. I didn't mean it. Did I? What the fuck is going on?_

"Oh…I can't _not_…love you. God, you're perfect too. I love you, Edward. I love…_you_."

Apparently I just ejaculated every one of my brain cells because all I can do is grab her face with my hands and kiss it everywhere. Her eyes are wet but so are mine. The last woman I said those three words to was my mother, and it was at her funeral. I don't tell people I love them very often because I don't love very many people. My eyes are wet because I don't know why I said what I did, and I'm ill-equipped to understand any of this. The one person who could've ever helped me to learn left me once that funeral was over. She drank herself into liver failure and that very same early grave where I told her I loved her for the very last time.

_Thinking about my mom right now? What the fuck is my malfunction?_

But then I realize it's what Bella is saying to me. Her words cut right to the soul I long since gave up on.

"Edward, thank you, baby. Thank you. Not just for the sex. For sharing yourself with me. I know you don't like doing that. But it's OK," she coos, sniffing back more tears. She pats my back softly and strokes my hair, all the while whispering that she'd always be there for me, always be the friend I need. I don't know why she's the one consoling me—I just took her virginity after weeks of stalling and telling her this was just an arrangement. Now I humor her with this wedding night scene like that's the kind of game any sane couple would play.

"I'm sorry, brown eyes," I whisper into her neck.

"Edward, stop apologizing. Let's just _be_ for a minute. No talking about favors or apologies or old black and white movies. I just want to _be_."

And so I let her words truly sink in and let my mind go blank. I'm still on top of her, smothering her like always but also inside her. I don't want to move. This is the most comfortable place I've been in a long time. My head is on her shoulder while my hand finds its way to it favorite place on top of her nipple.

"Sleep now, love. We're both tired," she says, kissing my forehead.

The last thing I say is sort of a half mumble I don't have the energy to fully articulate.

"Mine. My brown eyes. Soft and pretty…"

"Mmhmm. All yours," she murmurs back, her fingers laced in mine.

I fall easily into a really deep sleep, and come to really slowly amid a haze of intense dreams and I can't remember. But I'm glad to be waking up because I realize that I'm regaining consciousness next to a very unconscious Bella, who at the moment is humping my leg like adorable, yet horny, Chihuahua.

"Edward," she sighs as I scoop her up and cradle her in my arms, her head on my chest. "I was dreaming about you," she confesses shyly.

"Yeah, I could tell. If you rubbed yourself against my thigh any harder, you would've given me some serious rug burn."

She punches my arm.

"Burns from my carpet? Only your brain goes there, Cullen."

"Why are you the one complaining?" I reply with a laugh. "I'm the guy with a seriously chaffed leg. I'm not kidding, good thing derm is one floor below me at the hospital. I think I need a scrip for this," I moan playfully as I massage my thigh for effect.

"You're gonna need more than ointment when I'm done with you. Where's the plastic surgery ward? Close by?"

"Brown eyes! You'd hurt the pretty?"

"Yes. I'd maim you horribly."

"Come on, mistress. I need to clean you up," I urge, pulling her up into a sitting position.

"What for? Oh…right," she says nervously, eyeing her lap and slight tinge on blood on the bed sheet.

After we both use the bathroom and wash up a little, I have her lie back down so I can take a look at her and make sure she's OK.

"Here, brown eyes, take this ibuprofen," I say, handing her a couple of pills and a glass of water.

"Thanks," she replies, taking the pills and water from me and drinking them both down.

"How do you feel?" I ask, easing her knees apart.

"It doesn't really hurt. A bit sore maybe, but not really. You were super gentle," she says with a smile.

"Good," I say. "This is a little cold but it'll help with giving Mona Lisa her smile back," I quip.

"Oh good Lord! You named my vadge that, didn't you?"

"How could I help it? It's appropriate and I knew it would annoy you," I admit with a laugh as I gently put a cold compress against her. She gasps at the sudden cold.

I wait for a couple of minutes before I take the washcloth and toss it in the laundry basket.

"Thanks, again," she tells me as I climb back into the bed. I want to curl up with her in my arms but I'm not sure if I should. The decision is made for me when Bella nuzzles up to me instead. I almost want to freak out, run screaming, but her small hand on my chest and the smell of her hair and her warm little body next to mine actually calms me down.

"So, you don't regret last night?" I ask in a soft voice.

"Oh, I'm full of regrets."

My heart starts racing. _Shit. It was a fucking disaster, wasn't it? Why did I agree to this?_

"See, I knew this…" I start to say, the words coming out in a rush.

"Edward, let me finish! I regret I didn't finish my dessert at dinner because maybe it was fattening but it was also the single most delicious chocolate mousse ever," she says playfully. She pets my chest hair as she continues. "I regret that I waited that long—well, waited that long with you. Somehow I doubt it would've been as good with anybody else. But yeah, I shouldn't have listened when you kept saying we should wait. Because that was…awesome."

"Listen, Bella, about what I said. About the way we were talking to each…"

"I know, Edward. We were pretending. It's not a big deal. We don't even have to talk about it. Seriously. It was just…a little intense. Let's just leave it at that, OK?"

_Fuck. I know we shouldn't leave things like this. I just…I can't._

"OK," I reply simply. I give her a long kiss on the mouth that she reciprocates with small whimpers and whines.

"Edward. I think I need more lessons," she purrs.

"Not right now. Mona Lisa needs rest. So do you. We'll have plenty of chances for you to…study my unit more carefully."

"So, we'll keep going?"

"Of course, why not?"

"I don't know, I thought maybe you were agreeing to be my first and that was it."

"Please, brown eyes, what kind of teacher would I be I didn't show you _everything_ I know? Don't insult me like that."

"I'm sorry, _professor_, that was wrong. I was a bad girl," she purrs. _Shit, she does that on purpose, I swear she does_.

"Yes, that was very naughty," I reply in husky voice.

"Is there corporeal punishment at this school?" she asks sweetly, batting her eyelashes at me.

"Yes, yes there is. In fact, there's an entire lesson all about that sort of thing," I say with a laugh. When she yawns, I know that she can flirt all she wants, but we're going to sleep.

"OK, maybe that can be the next one," she suggests, burrowing into my shoulder as I ease us onto our sides, facing each other. I like falling asleep this way because then I can easily throw an arm and a leg over her, and pin her underneath me like I usually do.

"Goodnight, brown eyes," I whisper.

"Goodnight, smoosher."

I wake up the next morning and even before my eyes are fully open, I'm in a bad mood. I don't know why. I just know I'm in a shitty mood. When I come to, I realize why—I'm in the bed alone. No Bella. No sounds of Bella or smells of her cooking. She's just gone.

I sit bolt upright, unsure if I should be relieved or angry, when I notice a small note on the pillow next to me.

'_Edward, you were smothering me and snoring in my ear. I needed to get up anyway for an early meeting with my thesis advisor. Come by for dinner later, if you like. No worries if you're busy. —Bella p.s this is my eager beaver. Please take care of her. She and the bookworm aren't getting along._'

I have to laugh out loud when I see the little stuffed beaver that was lovingly tucked under the covers next to me.

After taking a shower and getting dressed for work, I let my brain run rampant with all kinds of thoughts—whether last night was a mistake, whether I meant what I'd said to her, whether she meant what she said. _God. That one was the worst of all._

I decide I just can't stand not knowing any longer. I get on the computer and log on to Twitter to read Bella's tweets. My eyes scan to the very last one she wrote.

_**BadKittyKillKil**__ Tangled web, meet mixed signals. I'm screwed from a screwing that wasn't. was much more but not enuf. God help me cos I love him. 4 real._

_Fuck, Cullen, what have you done?_

_

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**DUN DUN DUN! I know I always end with that sound. I can't help it. I need to keep you guys in suspense so you'll come back!**

**Anyway, hope you liked this chapter. It was difficult for me to write something where the emotions were all over the map. That is the point of the story, though, in case you hadn't noticed. There's a lot of teaching going on, not just of the seksy times kind. ;o)**

**Oh hey—I've started a new blog for romantic comedy in TwiFic. It's called **_**Chokin' the Rubber Chicken**_** and you can read it at angrybadgergirl(dot)blogspot(dot)com. Be sure to check out the fic that's rec'd there and feel free to send me you own rec's. I'd love to read them.**

**Bye for now! ::mwah::**


	12. Chapter 12

**Can I just take a moment to say how much I love you all? Seriously, if I could sing, I'd be belting out **_**Wind Beneath My Wings**_**. No lie. Thank you so much for all your awesome reviews. I'm so grateful to everyone who stops to leave me some love. :o)**

**A whole 'nother boatload of gratitude and hugs for my buddy Nina who praises my writing in ways I will never feel worthy of. Seriously, she's amazing. It doesn't hurt that she's a really awesome beta who has this weird kind of beta ESP and can extract my ideas from the rough drafts I write and help me whip them up into something polished and presentable. She and I both love Nutella, too. So right there's your proof that it was meant to be.**

**We're back to BPOV and a look inside her thoughts.**

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**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

_My Bella…I…I love you._

_I love you, Edward. I love…_you.

These simple words play over and over in my head as I lie next to Edward, his body pressed into me like it always is when he's asleep.

If it wasn't obvious to me before that Edward's brain is suffering from some kind of weird disconnect from the rest of him, it's really clear to me now.

And the fact that he is so messed up and confused inside makes me all the more messed up and confused myself. I know he's a good person, deep down. But I'm not about to 'convince him' he can love me. I mean…who does that?

_People who suggest roleplay where they're on their honeymoon when in reality, they aren't even dating shouldn't be so judgmental, you idiot._

Realizing that I'm never going to fall back asleep, I peer over at the alarm clock and see that it's already 6am. I want to slip out of the bed, so I start shifting around, slowly trying to extract myself.

But then Edward starts grunting in his sleep. He actually grabs some of my hair before I have a chance to sit up. We're in this weird forced spoon that I can probably climb out of if he'd let go out my hair.

"Hey, let go," I whisper.

"Ung."

"Please?"

"Grrr," he growls at me.

_Fucking perfect._

I try to wait a minute or so, but he's really going to town now, rubbing himself against the crack of my butt while 'sleep-grunting' into my neck. It's oddly romantic in a very, very crude and gross way, really.

"Ung…want mine…"

_Oh Jesus. Fred Flintstone, I am _this close_ to waking you up with my fist._

I reach over and softly stroke his cheek—just enough to get him roll over or something.

"It's me, it's just Bella," I tell him when he groans a little. He finally rolls over when he hears my voice, and sighs before starting to snore lightly.

Gathering my clothes up off the floor, I quickly throw them on and go to my apartment. It's a relief to be alone after a night that was so intense and emotional. Edward needs space, even if his inner caveman would deny it. I need the space too. _Badly_.

I throw on some yoga pants and a sweatshirt after having a quick shower. I look at myself in the mirror while I brush my hair and think about how everything happened, how it all went blurry and mixed up.

_How you turned chicken shit and basically sneaked off without so much as a goodbye? Classy!_

"You're better than this, Bella," I tell myself. "And too stupid to have any self-preservation skills whatsoever," I mutter.

I look around my desk for a piece of paper and a pen when one of the stuffed animals lying there catches my eye.

_Perfect._

I slip back into Edward's apartment without waking him. He looks exhausted as I put the note and stuffed animal next to him. His face is so pale, the bags under his eyes dark and purple. I softly kiss his forehead and leave as quickly as I came.

Back in my living room, I try to distract myself with my laptop. I send off some email and tweet for a while. I even send a tweet about Edward and last night. But every time I look up, all I see are reminders of our 'arrangement' and how it all went so confused and crazy. Before I know it, I'm fighting off tears and feeling torn up inside.

"I can't. I just can't."

I send off a couple of texts—one of them to my thesis advisor. I leave my place, heading to the only place I can think of.

"Bella, honey, come in," Alice says, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside her apartment.

"Thanks, Al. I know it's early," I say through hiccups and tears.

"Shut up, just get in here and sit. I'll make coffee," she tells me.

"I had an appointment with my advisor but I rescheduled it. I just…I cried the whole way here," I say through my sobs. I'm so overwhelmed, I just feel like I'm about to burst.

Rose joins us on the couch and throws a box of Kleenex into my lap. I mumble my thanks and blow my nose about twelve times.

"OK, what the hell happened?" Alice asks.

"It's all…so…fucked up. I think…" I wail. "I think I…" I try to say but I can't stop blubbering. "I think I _broke_ Edward."

"You _broke_ him? What the fuck does that mean?" Rose asks.

"I mean I made him all weirded out."

"Because you had sex with him?" Alice suggests.

"Yeah…no…yeah," I yammer incoherently.

"Can someone clue me the fuck in already?!?" Rose huffs impatiently.

"Bella, what happened? The sex was bad?" Alice asks.

"No, it was…so…I can't even…I don't have a real word to describe it. Magi-fantisti-wonder-ifical?" I say, bursting into a fresh round of tears.

"Um. I'm lost." Alice says with a sigh. "You're crying because the sex was the best you've ever had?"

"Dude, it was the only sex she's ever had," Rose reminds her.

"No it was the best. It was so good; I don't ever want to do it again. Like, I'm done now. I think. No, I definitely want to do that again. I think. I don't know!"

"OK, so what's upsetting you?" Alice wants to know as she rubs my arm.

"Stupid Jimmy Stewart and Carole Lombard!" I wail. "It's all their fault! Idiotic old black and white movies. I HATE THEM! They made me break Edward," I rant, not making any kind of sense whatsoever.

"Because…" Alice says, impatiently waving her hand, trying to coax the words out of me.

"Because they made me and Edward say 'I love you' to each other."

"You told Edward you loved him?" Rose exclaims, her eyes like saucers.

"Yes, but we were pretending. You know how he kept telling me that my first time should be special…meaningful?"

I blow my nose again before I explain some more.

"So he said it again last night and it really looked like he was going to say 'no' for the twenty billionth time so I just kind of blurted it out that we should…you know, roleplay or whatever. Like we were a couple from an old movie. I told him we should pretend it was our wedding night, and then it wouldn't seem like we were just having sex."

"And he said OK to this?" Alice asks.

"Yes, and at first it was just funny and ridiculous, calling each other 'sweetheart' and 'baby' and all that…but then, the more worked up we got, the more we said. It…God. It just took on a life of its own and I got so mixed up. Everything I said, it just sort of came out. I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't."

"What happened when you said you loved him? Is that when he freak out?" Rose asks.

"No, he was already freaked out."

"Why? What did you say before that?"

"No, it wasn't what I said. It was what he said," I stammer awkwardly, wringing the tissue in my hand. "He said 'I love you.' He said it first."

"Oh Jesus. What a fucking mess."

"A mess of a fucking," Alice agrees, shaking her head. "So…he said it, then you said it. Keep going."

"Then we both started crying. I was so sad for him. He…was having some kind of freak out because of this stupid idea. At the same time, he was so gentle and sweet. It didn't even hurt that much—he was so careful. And just how it felt, him inside me. It gave me this weird happy and sad feeling. Like, I really wished we could be like that all the time, be so close, not just our bodies, but we can't, because we're friends. But we want to just be friends. Shit! I'm not making any sense."

Alice brings me a mug of coffee and we all sit quietly for a while. For once I'm wishing they'd make some crude sex jokes or tease about something—anything. The more I think, the more I get lost in my head, the more upset I become.

"Bella, I have a question." Rose tells me. I turn and look at her, hoping it's not going to make me cry even harder than I already am.

"Don't you think it's a little strange that you guys were both crying if it was all just pretend?"

"I…I know, Rose," I confess. Maybe I can bullshit myself, but I can't bullshit these two. "I, uh…I'm in love with Edward. I can't help it," I say as my eyes start to sting so badly, I have to just shut them.

"And he said he loved you, and it got him really choked up, so saying it must've meant something to him," Alice adds.

"Well, yeah…I know it meant _something_. But it was too much. He…I don't know how to explain it. This is what I mean when I say I 'broke' him. It's like this stupid roleplay thing triggered something and he got really emotional. I was trying to make him feel better. I told him it was OK. And that…you know, it was all just a game anyway," I explain.

_All just a game. A big, moronic, rip your heart into a million pieces game._

"So where did you guys leave things?" Rose asks.

"We slept for a bit, then we got up, joked around a little, like we always do. I left his place while he was still asleep—I wrote him a note. We both needed a little space after that. Him especially. I really think, deep down, he just doesn't get it. Like…he doesn't get how to be with someone. Forget girlfriends, I seriously doubt he's even had a female friend. I think he just knows how to flirt, fool around and then move on. It…makes me feel sad for him. Isn't that dumb?"

"Not for you. You always did have a bleeding heart for wounded things. Remember that squirrel outside our dorm freshman year?" Alice remembers.

"Oh my God…not the squirrel. We swore we wouldn't speak of that ever again," Rose moans, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. "She cried for a week!" she adds, pointing at me.

"Poor little guy. All sick. I never saw an ASPCA person get as irritated as she did at you, Bella," Alice says with a snort.

"I know! Bella was all 'you better help him recuperate properly! I know people at the World Wildlife Federation!'" Rose replies, starting to laugh herself.

"You know, make fun all you want but I am actually really upset right now," I say with a sniffle.

"Sorry, girl, we got sidetracked," Alice says, patting my thigh. "But no, seriously, the point is, I'm not totally surprised that you care about him, that you feel bad that he's got these issues or whatever. I mean…if he is important to you, then I guess you don't really have a choice right?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Like…you don't have a choice about whether you should be cool about it his issues. It doesn't sound like you'd just flounce on him now. If you care about him, you've gotta, you know, stick with him. Play cool, but don't blow him off either. Let him set the pace or whatever," Rose explains, getting Alice's point a lot quicker than me.

"I feel like I'm trying to domesticate a feral animal or something," I gripe as I wipe my eyes.

"Taming the wild cock—always worth the effort. Well, depends on the cock, I guess," Rose muses.

"Yeah, he's worth the effort," I say with a smile. "And please, enough cock jokes." They both stare at me, smirking. And then they start tag-teaming. Their favorite pastime.

"You sound cock-sure," Alice snorts.

"She should be though. Don't want to get into this half-cocked," Rose replies.

"Otherwise it could turn into a cock-up."

"Hope he's not giving you some cock-and-bull story."

"That would make her feel all cock-eyed."

"Yeah. You knows guy, though. They tell all kinds of cockamamie stories sometimes."

"OHMYGODSHUTUP!" I snap, running to the sanctity of their bathroom to wash my face.

I hang out with them for a few hours, just doing normal girl stuff like talking about what it felt like to have sex, then about boys in general and how they were both seeing Jasper and Emmett pretty regularly.

"Hey, are you still going to these work parties with Edward?" Alice asks.

"Yeah. We have this Halloween masquerade ball coming up this weekend. I need to go shopping for that actually. I think I need a really fancy dress—nicer than the cocktail dresses I have, anyway."

"OK, cool. We'll go with you. Wait—that reminds me. Jasper knows TNGUS. His dad works at Brigham's and I mentioned yesterday that you were friends with a gynecologist there. They'd hang out sometimes over the summer," she says. I make a mental note to ask Edward about this, but I promptly forget it.

"Can we go back to Barney's?" Rose asks, looking all too enthusiastic about the prospect of buying new clothes. I just roll my eyes.

After going home and napping for a bit, I catch up on some writing assignments before I notice that it's getting to be time to start dinner. I'm fairly certain Edward will still want some time to himself, so I'm pleasantly surprised when I hear his familiar sounding _knock-knock-knock_ on the door.

"Hey brown eyes," he says with a smile as he walks through the door. He looks nervous. I can tell because he abuses his poor beautiful hair when he's nervous.

"Stop that," I tell him, grabbing his wrists as his fingers reach his scalp for the fifth time in a minute. "You're making me want to cut off all that nice hair just so you'd leave it alone."

"Sorry, I'm…uh…it's just," he stammers.

"Come on, let's sit and talk," I say, trying to sound calm when really I have the worst case of butterflies ever.

I sit and play with his hand. I love his fingers, how long and elegant they are—like something out of a painting. Funny that he compares my privates to the most famous work of art in the world when he's the pretty one.

"Hmm?" I say, vaguely registering that he'd said something to me, but I didn't hear it.

"I said it's a good thing we decided to talk," he jokes, teasing me for getting quiet all of a sudden. "Nervous?" he asks.

"Yeah. Are you?"

"Yeah."

"Things are awkward. I know awkward, I'm really familiar with it. But you're one of the few people who makes me feel less awkward and more…like a normal person," I confess, rubbing his pinky nail with my thumb.

When I look up at him after a minute, I see something that makes me think of the word _home_.

Edward has his arm outstretched, his body turned toward me. He wants me to sit on his lap.

I climb on and fold myself up as compactly as I can. This, after all, is the only real way to feel cozy—wrapped up with him and in him.

"Feeling better?" he asks.

"Yeah. How about you?"

"All I can think about when you sit on my lap is how much I like it when you sit on my lap," he says with a chuckle. With my head on his chest, his voice is deep and his laugh is gravelly, masculine. I hum little happy sounds when I feel him kiss my head.

"The things we said last night…we can leave them there. Come back and talk about them another time, when the idea of it doesn't make us both so wound up?" I suggest in a soft voice.

"Did you not mean what you said?"

"Well, I did and I didn't. What about you?"

"I have to admit, I sort of feel the same way."

"Lots of people…who are friends," I say, being very pointed with the word 'friends.' "Say 'I love you.' It's not like we don't care about each other. I respect you, want you to be happy. All those things."

"I feel the same way about you."

"There's such a thing as Platonic love, right?"

"Absolutely. Love through friendship. It's an ancient concept."

"Mmhmm. There've been Platonic people running around since…"

"Plato?"

"Exactly!"

"I like the way you think, brown eyes."

"Thank you, Edward," I say with a very serious expression. "People with their silly attachments to words and giving them these crazy connotations."

"I love it when you get so intensely linguistic."

"I thought you were cunning linguist around here."

"Oh my God. Something is wrong. Where's Bella and what have you done with her?"

I can't answer him because I'm laughing too hard at my own crude humor.

"Bella Swan—the _real_ Bella Swan—would never make such a low-brow sex joke. Would she?" he asks, putting his hand against my forehead, pretending to see if I have a fever.

"Stop it before you make me lose what little sense of humor I have," I warn playfully.

"No, don't do that," he sighs, wrapping his long arms around me and squeezing the life out of me. I look up at him and his face looks like the one I usually see—calm, playful, handsome…_smirky_.

"OK, Mr. I'm-too-cool-for-a-whole-smile-because-the-ladies-might-pass-out-so-here's-half-a-smile," I say, unintentionally running out of breath. Edward laughs at that more than my joke about his smile. "Phew. That's a long nickname I just gave you. I was trying to be all smooth there and ask for a kiss but I just ruined it," I say, laughing loudly along with him, and feeling like a huge weight was just lifted off the both of us.

Nothing else needs to be said because our lips—his and mine—are tired of talking and just get to work on their own. I kissed him only last night but it feels like that was entirely too long ago. Feeling his lips and tongue and scratchy whiskers is the final missing piece for getting rid of that awkward feeling and letting normalcy take over again.

"Edward," I say, breaking off our insane kissing for a minute.

"Hmm?" he replies, pulling on the collar of my t-shirt and inspecting its contents. I smack his hand away to better get his attention.

"I need to feed us dinner. And then I want us to…um…move along with the lessons," I say with a shy smile.

"Mmm," he moans, kissing me softly. "Sounds delicious. I'm sure dinner will be good too."

"Want to kiss you, all over," I whisper, my forehead leaning against his cheek. I want to get up and make us something to eat, but my libido has other ideas…and maybe my heart does too. I straddle Edward's lap so I can really grab on to him, hug him, let myself kiss him everywhere, feel his big hands move up and down my back. When my hand drifts down to the drawstring of his scrubs, reaching to pull it open, he stops me.

"Brown eyes," let's talk for a second. I look at him, puzzled. I thought we talked already.

"Don't be nervous," he says, lifting my chin with his index finger. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page about your 'lessons,'"

"Like going over the syllabus?"

"Yes, like going over the syllabus."

"OK."

"Since we had sex last night and will probably be doing it again…"

"I should hope so. I'll drop this class if we don't," I warn playfully.

"No need to be concerned there," he laughs back. "What I mean is, we should probably talk about what kinds of things we want to do. Well, first I should make it clear that I would _never_ expect you to do something you don't want to. Because…I don't like the idea of you being uncomfortable…what I mean is…don't let anyone force you into anything. Make sure a man respects you. Always."

_Why is my stomach in knots all of a sudden?_

"Oh…like if I ever have a real boyfriend someday? Something like that?"

"Yeah, something like that. I can't keep you forever, that's not fair to you. One day you'll want more…and…that's only natural. And so I want you to only expect the best, because that's what you deserve. I know you hate it when I say that. But it's true, brown eyes. You deserve to be treated like the best thing that's ever happened to a man."

_Stop talking like this Edward, I want to cry. Please just shut up. I think I hate you right now because of how much friendly, idiotic Platonic love I have for you. So shut the fuck up._

"Oh. But what kind of boyfriend should I look for? I mean, should he be like you?"

"Well, I don't know if he should be like me. He should just treat you like I do. Respect you. Be mindful of your needs. Never, _ever_ let a man touch you just because he wants to and you let him just because you think that's what will make him like you more. Don't _ever_ do that, OK?"

"But you would never do that to me. You already don't do that."

"Because I respect you, brown eyes. You're a good person. Unfortunately, a lot of men would see that sweet part of your personality and try to take advantage of it. Don't let them. In fact, I think you should probably introduce me to anyone that asks you out. I can tell when a guy is player, having been one myself."

"Yeah, you should probably meet them. I don't want to end up with a loser."

"You know what? Just tell me if a guy hits on you. I'll talk to him before he actually takes you on a date."

"I think that makes sense. I trust your opinion."

"Sometimes guys can even look at a woman in a way that's very disrespectful. Check out your breasts, your ass. Things like that. If a guy does that to you, let me know and I'll have a chat with him."

"That sounds like a good idea. I don't want to get mixed up with some idiot and then regret it."

"Absolutely. I'd be extremely angry with any fellow that was inappropriate with you. I mean, as your friend, I think I'd be remiss if I didn't look out for you, especially if a guy did something really rude like make a pass at you or stare at your cleavage."

"You'd do that for me, Edward?"

"Of course I would."

"You're such a good friend."

"It's the least I can do."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"OK, so what are your limits, Edward?"

"I don't really have any. I'm just here to try whatever you want. You set the pace. If you're curious about something, tell me."

"What if it's something…uh…"

"Something, what?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

"You know! Something weird or dirty or whatever."

"You don't have to be embarrassed. Just ask me. You can trust me. Never hesitate to say 'no' or 'stop' if you don't like something."

"I've liked it all so far."

"Have you now? Look at that blush of yours. God you're pretty when you blush like that. What have you liked? Hmm?" he teases, smirking at me.

"I like…the…uh. You know…the dirty talk."

"I have to say, brown eyes—that is really kind of ironic considering how badly you blush at the very mention of it and how irritated you get at my crude jokes."

"Don't tease!" I say, pushing his shoulder.

"Can't help it. C'mon, tell me why you like dirty talk."

"Because it makes it more exciting. Like, I can tell you how sexy everything makes me feel. And when you say the same things, it makes it even more hot. To know that you think it's all really erotic too. We're both so caught up in it. I like that. A lot."

"I like it too. For exactly the same reasons."

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"I can't make dinner or even think straight when your hand is in my panties."

"Well, I took it you offered me a tacit invitation just now."

"I did? How?"

"Um, when put your hand in my boxers and wrapped it around my dick."

"Oh…right. I did do that, didn't I?"

"I'm not complaining. In fact, your hand can probably tell that I'm feeling quite the opposite of disagreeable right now. At least if my erection is any indication."

"God you're hand feels nice."

"So does yours."

"I like…um…to…put my mouth on you."

"Christ, you're entirely too sexy, entirely too unintentionally. You're my undoing, brown eyes, hand to God."

"Is that bad? Should I not talk like that with a real boyfriend?"

"No. Don't. Just for me. Because no one else…"

"No one else what?"

"No one should hear it but me. That's all."

"But…what if he's like you—sweet, trustworthy? If you were my boyfriend, you'd be that way, right?"

"Of course I would."

"So can I practice dirty talking like you're my boyfriend?"

"Yes. I'm your boyfriend and you only talk like that for me."

"OK," I sigh as his finger finds exactly where I love to be touched the most.

"And like I've told you before…nothing makes you seem cheap or tawdry to me—ever. Just seductive…alluring," he whispers in my ear. My own hand holds on to him, moving up and down in a steady rhythm.

"Edward…want to…um. I want to give you head."

"Shit," he groans.

"Can I…say more?"

"Yes. Just for me?"

"Only you."

"What is it brown eyes? What do you want to say? It's alright…tell me," he purrs.

"I like giving you head. I love giving you head. Want to be…" I murmur, pumping my hand faster.

"Want to be what?" he asks, his breathing growing ragged.

"Want to be…your good little cocksucker."

"Oh fuck," Edward gasps, right before coming all over my hand.

"Sorry!" I blurt out, reaching for the tissues on the coffee table.

"Brown eyes, sometimes I really do think you're trying to kill me. In the best possible way."

"Want to take a shower with me?" I ask, helping him take his shirt off. His muscles and chest hair look delectable to me.

"Oh no. I'm repaying this debt, young lady. Come over here," he insists. He gently eases my sweats and panties off, then lies on the couch and brings me up toward his mouth, my knees on either side of his head. It takes about one minute, probably less, for me to start seeing stars and Jesus and all twelve apostles.

"Holy smokes, that went on and on," I tell him, panting and puffing.

"I figured I owed you some interest," he says with a handsome smile.

"I need to loan you orgasms more often."

"Yes you do. Lots of them."

"Come on, let's wash up and eat. I don't know about you but I consider any sort of fooling around with you to be legitimate physical exertion. At least that's how I justify really wanting to eat a gigantic cheeseburger right now," I say with a laugh. "And feed you one too, of course," I add, pulling his arm toward the bathroom.

"Fair enough, brown eyes. Like I said before—I like the way you think," he replies, swatting my backside before breaking into a sprint so I can't swat him back.

* * *

**So there ya go. Denial's not just a river in Egypt. These guys don't know which end is up, but they'll figure it out.**

**Please check out my new blog for comedy fic recs: http : / / angrybadgergirl(dot)blogspot(dot)com Thanks!**

**Tune in next time when TNGUS and Bella go out the masquerade ball.**


	13. Chapter 13

**As always, thanks for all the positive feedback—over 3K reviews! I'm very grateful for each and every one. :o)**

**Thanks again to my beta, Nina, aka WriteOnTime. I send you smooshes and smooches!**

**Once again, this is in BPOV.**

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* * *

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**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

"Bella, hold still," Alice gripes, struggling to draw eyeliner onto my eyelid.

"I'm trying, Rose keeps yanking my hair!"

"I wouldn't be yanking it if you used conditioner and your hair didn't get so knotted," Rose snaps.

"I hate you both. I know you guys just want me to look good, but do you have to torture me? Waxing _all _the hair off my body? Really?" I whined.

"Edward will appreciate it. I don't care how 'platonic' you guys are, he doesn't wanna fuck Chewbacca," Rose snorts.

"Hey! I keep my muff trim! It just wasn't bald like it is now."

"Well, now he'll spend more time down there," Alice retorts.

"He spends plenty of time down there. He even has a name for it."

"This oughtta be good," Rose smirks.

"It is. He calls her Mona Lisa," I say with a self-satisfied huff.

"Thank you! Look at the painting yourself, Bella. She has a moustache!" Alice replies.

"Bitches," I grumble.

"So how many times have you guys done it?" Alice asks, unable to keep her nosiness in check.

"Just once. Edward wants me to 'recuperate' and says we should make time for it—not rush. I guess tonight's the night, after this masquerade ball, anyway," I say with a smile.

"Well, good luck and have fun," Alice chirps with a wink.

"_Happy tails, to yoooooooo_," Rose sings. Then Alice joins in and they both sing "_until we fuck again…happy tails, to yooooooo…_"

I just sigh inwardly and shake my head. God knows they mean well, even if they can only think of one thing. I shoo them out of the apartment, anxious to get rid of them before Edward shows up and they embarrass themselves. And me.

My hair and makeup done, I step into my purple evening gown with gold sequin neckline and put on my heels just as Edward comes to the door. He surprises me with a bouquet of flowers.

"Oh, wow. What's the occasion?" I ask, smiling at him.

"Nothing special. I just like the orange daisies," he says with a shrug. "Thought you'd like them too."

"I do like them. Thank you."

"Did you buy a mask?" he asks.

"Yeah. Got my disguise right here," I joke, showing him my gold and black mask with dainty feathers on one side. "I like yours. Devil horns. Nice," I add. Edward puts on his red and black demon mask and grins at me.

"Does it suit me?" he asks.

"Perfectly," I tell him, rolling my eyes.

"Come here, you—angel with no right to call yourself one," he accuses playfully.

"Oh, Dr. Cullen, how you insult me!" I say, playing right along and stamping my foot.

We hug and kiss for a minute and I almost want to scold him for ruining my makeup and hair with his smooches and smooshes but I can't really be bothered.

"You look handsome in your tuxedo," I say, our arms wrapped around one another.

"Thanks, brown eyes. That's a pretty dress you've got on. Mostly because it looks like it's impossible to wear a bra under that neckline."

"I'm in too good a mood to even respond to that, Cullen," I say, scrunching my eyes shut and snapping my jaw at him instead. "But I may bite you," I threaten.

"Mmm, kinky," he says with a laugh as I pretend to pull the knot on his tie so tightly that it strangles him. "Stop, mistress. I can't drive if I'm dead."

"But then you can be a zombie for Halloween."

"Then I'll be a zombie permanently. You're not into necrophilia, are you?"

"Edward," I warn.

"Put on your coat, let's go before you strangle me," he laughs.

I kind of like the way he's slowly accepting his lot in life as the bane of my existence, albeit in a jokey kind of way. And I have to admit, I actually love the way he purposely provokes me.

"Oooh, the pussymobile," I remark with a grin as we walk over to his car.

Edward just looks at me reproachfully.

"What?" I ask.

"That's not why I bought it and not why I drive it now," he says, opening my door for me.

"I'm just teasing, Edward," I pout, tilting my head at him. When he gets into the car on the driver's side, I kiss the tip of his nose—surprising him.

"What was that for?"

"Your nose looked lonely. It doesn't need a fancy car to get my attention."

"Brown eyes, if I didn't know better, I'd think you're beginning to like me despite yourself," he teases.

"What was it you said that night of the thunderstorm? 'Just a pinch, a smidge?' That sounds about right," I tease back.

"Don't like me any more than that. The shock would surely kill me," he says with a smirk as he turns the key in the ignition and the engine softly revs to life.

"Eh, I could think of more exciting ways to do away with you."

"You frighten me sometimes, brown eyes."

"Hey, my dad was a cop and a detective. I know a lot about how to hide a homicide well."

"Remind me never to truly get on your bad side."

"Who says you haven't already?"

"Oh shit. I'm shutting up now."

"Edward, I _really_ am beginning to like you," I say with a laugh.

And all we do is tease and laugh the whole way there, in Edward's entirely overpriced pussymobile.

It's still the cocktail hour when we get there. We mingle and have drinks and hors d'oeuvres, the overall mood of the party being fun and amiable. Aro, Heidi, and other doctors on the OB/GYN staff at the hospital that I'd met at the last party are all there. While talking to Heidi, I see a pretty, buxom woman with long hair catch Edward's eye and make her way toward us.

"Hi Edward," she says, a little too enthusiastically.

"Oh, hello, Jessica. Nice to see you," he replies, a little tersely. "Um, are you here with someone?" he asks. He looks uncomfortable.

"Uh, yeah! Duh. I work at a bank, remember? Silly," she says, putting her hand on his arm. "I'm here with Mike Newton," she says, looking at me for some reason. "He's a podiatrist. That's a…"

"A foot doctor. I know what a podiatrist is," I say with a laugh. "My Nana Swan gets bunions," I add awkwardly, stirring my drink and shrugging.

"I was hoping I'd see you here," she tells Edward. She grins her giant teeth at him and touches his arm again. I want to punch her and knock some of those teeth out, but I resist.

_Calm down, who cares. He's had his bevy of bimbos around him before. Shouldn't surprise me that we'd run into one of them. So why am I so…wanting to rip her face off?_

"Thanks for the introduction, Edward," I say sarcastically. I stand there like a third wheel, feeling like I'm interrupting when Big Teeth was the one who interrupted us.

"Oh, God. Sorry," he offers nervously. "Bella, this is a friend of mine, Jessica," he says, gesturing at her. "Jessica, this is Bella, my…um…my…" he stammers.

"His neighbor," I finish for him in a small voice as I stare at my feet. I still want to punch her, but now I want to tell Edward to take Jessica with him in the pussymobile and drive it straight off a cliff.

I smile and nod stiffly for a minute while they make small talk that's just tense and weird. Excusing myself, I go to the ladies' room to gather my thoughts. It shouldn't matter to me that someone who's clearly _really_ familiar with Edward is spending time with him. We have no real monogamy here—there's no relationship to protect. Our spending time together exclusively is just for convenience.

_I think. Shit, I don't know. I still want to punch her._

When I exit the ladies' room, I all but literally run into Edward.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"You don't have your mask on," he says, pointing to the mask in my hand.

"Yeah. Well, you never take yours off," I gripe, walking toward the terrace across the lobby, my heels clicking on the marble underneath me.

The cold air hits my face and stings my cheeks. I feel someone tug my arm at the elbow.

"You're angry at me," Edward says.

"No. You'd have to do something wrong for me to be angry."

"Then what's bothering you?"

"Nothing!" I snap.

"Bella. Please. Should we leave? I don't want to keep you here if you aren't enjoying it."

"'Please' yourself, Edward. I'm here as an arrangement, remember? My 'enjoying it' doesn't enter into it. I can still smile and chat and wave and be a good girl," I say, my words coming out like little barks.

"You shouldn't be jealous of Jessica. I never liked her."

"What? Jealous? Of that airhead? Are you drunk?"

"You didn't seem at all happy to meet her."

"Meeting her was fine. It was the introduction that was lacking, 'neighbor,'" I spit.

"OK, now we're getting somewhere. Look, it was awkward. I didn't mean to make it sound like I didn't know what to call you. Well, no, maybe I didn't know."

"What does that mean? You couldn't just say 'my friend?' That is what I am, right?"

"Of course, but…"

"But what, Edward?" I say, my voice starting to crack.

He stares at me like he's struggling to think of what to say next, and that look—that badly behaved little boy—is back in full force.

"Let's just go eat, they're seating everyone," I say, my lips in tight line. I'm trying very hard to not cry. And not punch him.

Dinner seems to last forever as I listen to the voices around me chirp and trill. Laughter doesn't even have its usual infectious effect on me. I'm not unfriendly, in fact, I still chime into the conversation when I can but my smiles are wooden, my chatting almost scripted.

Edward and I are quiet in the car on the way home. I keep my mind occupied by looking out the window and watching the city lights.

I want to turn back time and make the last few hours disappear. I want to not care what Edward thought of me and how he treated me in front of one of his…_friends_. But I can't turn back time. I can only try to fix what happened.

"I'm sorry if I ruined your night," I offer as we walk up the steps into the brownstone. I try to stop in front of my door, but Edward takes hold of my arm and pulls me up the next flight of stairs and into his apartment. Once we're inside, we keep talking.

"That's not important, Bella. I'm more concerned about whatever's bothering you."

"Do you really not know? I'm not trying to be facetious; it's an honest question."

"And I have an honest answer. I have no idea. For the life of me, I never seem to know what you're thinking. You're a lot better at reading me than I am at reading you."

"Alright, then. I'll tell you. It made me angry that you couldn't even tell that woman I was your friend. It's as if…you were embarrassed by me," I say in a small voice. "It's not like I don't know I'm not as pretty as she is, and that's not a big deal…"

Edward cuts me off by laughing.

"Is that what you think? Who's talking nonsense now, brown eyes?" he asks, his tone tinged with sarcasm.

"Is that your idea of talking this out? Teasing me?" I ask defensively.

"If you say something like to me again—something that demeans you or makes you sound inferior—I won't just tease you. I'll get ticked off. Because, and these are your words: '_it insults us both_.' You're _not_ an embarrassment to me. And don't ever compare yourself to Jessica. I mean come on. I know the plastics guy who did her implants!"

"Then why did you get all tongue-tied?"

Edward sighs and looks thoughtful for a minute.

"I wanted to say 'my friend' when I introduced you, but I thought if I pointed it out, it would be giving Jessica the wrong idea. I didn't want her to think I was available. But I couldn't call you my girlfriend either. I felt like I was put on the spot. That's the God's honest truth."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I misjudged you, Edward. I seem to do that a lot. I'm sorry." I shift uncomfortably on the couch next to him, my anger turning to contrition.

"You know what? I misjudged you too. I never imagined you'd actually consider yourself below someone like Jessica, in any way," he says, practically scowling, yet, inching closer and closer to me. My heart starts beating faster and my skin flushes.

"I think I've probably worn out my welcome. I should go downstairs," I reply, despite the fact that he has me pushed completely into the corner of his loveseat, between him and the large armrest, with nowhere to go. I don't mean a word of what I'm saying. I don't want to leave; I'm just trying to calm myself down from feeling an odd mixture of anger, possessiveness, regret…and arousal.

"Don't go. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped at you—I'm not angry, just…brown eyes, we could be in an entire roomful of 'Jessicas' and…I'd only notice you," he tells me sweetly, his head tilted toward me, those big puppy dog eyes making my head spin. "You have to know that."

It's all starting to blur in my head again, and I lose track of what feels like friendship, what feels like attraction, what feels like romance, and what feels like…tenderness…affection…_love._

"Edward…" I whisper.

"Stay, brown eyes. That dress is too pretty _not_ to be lying in a wrinkled pile on my bedroom floor," he tells me with a smirk as he runs his fingertip along the edge of my neckline and dipping it into my cleavage.

"I…had no right to be angry. I feel silly, really."

"Look, I don't know what you're thinking 99% of the time. Just tell me next time, OK?"

"Yeah, OK."

We sit in silence for a few minutes as Edward twirls a lock of my hair with his fingers. On impulse, I hitch up my dress and straddle his lap, pretty much tackling him.

"Oof, watch it, brown eyes, you're gonna damage the goods," he says with a laugh.

"Hey, it's only fair, you smoosh me all the time."

"True enough," he replies, smiling at me as I scratch his whiskers with my fingertips. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my cheek against his as hard as I can. He groans really loudly on purpose.

"Shush. I'm trying to get the last of my shitty mood to go away. I'm concentrating."

"By grumbling at me and pulling my hair?"

"Less talking and more suffering in silence, Edward."

"OK. I'll be quiet now…done yet?" he asks, deliberately trying to annoy me.

"No, you're distracting me. I'm trying to coax my inner grump back into her little closet."

"I have a better way of exorcising your demons, brown eyes," he purrs, his hands all over my butt.

"Edward, you can't solve every problem with your penis."

"No, but I will die trying, little girl," he says with a laugh as his fingers nimbly find their way under my dress. He sucks in a gasp through his teeth when he feels the silky ruffles of my panties. "What…shit…you really…fuck," he babbles.

"It's a thong—I thought you'd like it," I reply with a small smile.

"I don't mind the boy shorts, and even the little white panties you wear are cute…but this. This will kill me," he murmurs as he kisses me softly, his hand still playing with the frilly fabric under my dress.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"My grump is gone now."

"Finally. I was beginning to wonder if I should try having sex with her instead of you."

"Pff. Like she'd sleep with the likes of _you_."

"Are you sure your grump is gone? Actually, how can you really tell, now that I think about it?"

"That's it, I'm taking my ruffles downstairs," I huff, trying to hoist myself off his lap.

"Hey now, you know I like to tease. And by the feel of these panties…I think you're trying to tease too, hmmm?" he asks with that delectable smirk that I don't know whether to slap or suck on. Maybe both.

"I just wanted you to think it looked pretty," I whisper, staring shamelessly at his lips.

"Well, now, how am I to know what they look like at all if I can't see them, brown eyes?" he quips as he eases the zipper of my dress slowly down my spine.

"There is that," I surmise in a small voice, looking thoughtful.

"Will you show me these pretty panties of yours?" he asks, looking at me through thick eyelashes, his brow lowered. I swallow hard and can only nod my head. I lower the collar of my dress down my arms, slipping out of it so that it settles in a heap at my waist.

"Stand up for me, beautiful," he urges, helping me to my feet as my dress falls to the floor. "Turn around; I want to see all of you."

Wearing nothing but my frilly thong and a pair of strappy heels, I slowly turn in a circle as Edward sits on the couch, still fully dressed in a tuxedo except for his jacket.

"Jesus, brown eyes—what the hell got it into your head that Jessica had a single thing over you?" he asks, shaking his head.

"I do feel…beautiful when I'm with you," I confess, looking at my pedicured toes. I look up at Edward staring at me and smile back at him.

"Listen," he begins. "I want you to understand something. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. If I wanted to go home with Jessica, I would have. Here—see this?" he asks, grabbing his BlackBerry from his jacket pocket next to him. "This phone has the number of every woman I've been with or have been interested in being with in the last couple of years or so. I haven't called a single one of them since the night of your birthday when we agreed to this. I haven't because I don't want them…I want you."

"Thank you," I whisper.

"Bella," he sighs, looking like an Adonis in his suit, his arms reaching out, wanting _me_. This man, so seductive, charming, handsome…devilish…wants _me_.

The thought occurs to me that there is such a thing as being seductive, alluring, and that's separate from true, tender love. This is what Edward must mean, and I feel foolish for expecting any more or any less.

"Oh, God, Edward," I gasp, literally throwing myself on him. If I don't touch every last inch of him soon, I think I may lose my mind. "Please," I beg, running my hands all over him as he kisses my chest. What I'm begging for, I'm not entirely sure.

I grab his face, bringing his mouth to mine. He tastes like whiskey and caramel, his breath pouring out in a groan, probably in response to my impatience.

"Tonight, you're in charge, brown eyes. I want you to tell me what will make you feel good. I want you to feel special…desirable…sexy. Because that's what you are," he tells me as he strokes my cheek with his thumb.

"Can I touch you? Touch you everywhere?" I ask.

"Of course you can. I don't think I could refuse you even if I tried."

"As if you could fight me off," I say with a gentle giggle as I loosen his tie from around his neck and begin unbuttoning his shirt.

"Not a chance," he replies as he traces an outline around my nipple with the tip of his finger.

I pull open his shirt but don't have the patience to take it off completely. I just can't wait any longer because I love to touch Edward's chest and shoulders, to feel his strong body under my palms—his taut muscles that ripple and bulge as he moves. Even his chest hair turns me on; it's all so masculine, handsome.

Carefully studying the different parts of his body, some of the things I do make Edward moan or gasp, like when I kiss and lick his neck. Sometimes my curiosity makes him laugh.

"You have an odd fascination with my hands," he tells me with a grin. "I do enjoy it—don't get me wrong—but I notice you like looking at them or playing with them."

"They're pretty," I say with a slight shrug and a laugh as I kiss his palm. "And they…I don't know…they remind me of you, your personality," I confess somewhat awkwardly. "They're sophisticated…sexy. But also very gentle and tender."

"Like right now?" he asks as he cups my breasts lightly.

"Yeah, like right now," I whisper before leaning in and kissing him again. His soft velvet tongue touches mine, making me moan and move against him.

"Tell me what would make you feel good. Anything you want," he urges.

"I want to feel your mouth…feel it on my breasts," I whimper, and he complies—sucking and tugging on me, making the room spin and igniting an ache between my legs.

My fingers fumble clumsily with his belt buckle, trying to take the rest of his clothes off, or at least just get to what I want so badly—to touch him, feel him in my hand, my mouth, inside me. Finally, I manage to undo his pants just enough so that I can touch his bare skin to my palm, caressing him up and down. When his eyes close and his mouth forms a hungry pout, I think I may lose it completely.

"Want to…give you head," I purr.

I kneel in front of him, with one hand wrapped around him and one hand inside my panties. When I touch him with my lips and tongue, licking and sucking, his eyes snap open and he watches me, groaning softly in approval and putting his hand in my hair.

"Soft little mouth…Jesus," he mumbles, "Are you getting yourself off, too? Fuck—brown eyes…you are my good girl…my good little cocksucker. Can't…" I think he's trying to tell me that he can't hold off for very long and lets his head droop sideways onto his shoulder. Seeing him get so aroused has the same effect on me, in turn, and so when start feeling myself cum, I look up at Edward and moan into his skin—which I can't really help, even though I know it's almost too stimulating for him. He can tell from the expression on my face that I'm climaxing—while he's in my mouth.

"You are gonna fucking kill me…" he growls, his lips in a snarl. He looks intense but his voice sounds more like a pleading whimper.

_Oops. I think._

With one last moan, he's filling my mouth and struggling to catch his breath. Pulling me back up, he lays me on my back, wraps his fingers skillfully around my thong and slides them off me in one motion.

"Oh, Mona…you've had some work done," he says with a smirk when he sees that I've waxed everywhere. He kisses my pubic bone lightly. I scrunch my face at him before laughing.

He still has my panties in his hand and holds them up, inspecting the golden ivory silk fabric.

"You need to order one of these in every color," he tells me. "Just looking at them is getting me worked up already," he confesses with a laugh, rubbing the material with his fingers.

"Really?" I ask, taking the panties from him and peeking at his lap. Sure enough, he's already looking…_happy_. I make an accidental discovery when I reach over with my hand and my panties brush against him. He nearly jumps from the feeling of the silk on his skin.

_Hmm, curious._

Holding my panties between my fingers, I stroke the ruffly material against him, back and forth and watch as he hisses and clenches his teeth.

"I just wanna try one thing," I whisper. "Be very still…don't move," I urge with a smile.

I tease him, using the fabric almost like a feather. When he starts muttering a string of swear words, I know this most be really, really erotic for him. I wrap the panties around him and put my hand over them.

"Does this feel good?" I ask, half looking for confirmation, half trying to see if talking about it makes it more fun. Edward can't even answer with words, which pretty much confirms it for me. He's almost as aroused as he was just a few minutes ago, and the sight of that puts me in the same exact state.

"I want you, Edward," I murmur. "Want you inside me…_please_."

"Lesson Five, brown eyes, is the vaginal orgasm. This particular position is perfect for it," he says with a smirk. "Come here, baby," he whispers, gently easing back onto his lap so that I'm straddling him again. "Slowly ease yourself onto me. If it hurts, stop, OK?" he asks. I nod and look down, both our hands working to guide him so I can bear down on him.

It different from the first time—just a little pain in the first few seconds, but then it's only him and me, fitting together, completing each other. We both sigh when he's completely inside me, and I instinctively arch my back to accommodate him…feel him everywhere. His hands tangle in my hair when I start moving my hips up and down, bending my back into more of a curve and bringing my breasts close to his mouth. He sucks and bites while I writhe on top of him.

Edward's large hands grab my ass and pivot me so that he rubs against the same spot he's only found with his finger before now. When he grinds into it with so much more force than a fingertip, my reaction is almost instant. My entire body gets that pins-and-needles sensation before all my muscles start convulsing with the most intense, euphoric sparks I have ever felt in my life.

I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. I realize quickly that it's because I'm so tensed up that I have no air in my lungs. I take a giant breath and let my body do what it's meant to—react to Edward in the most basic, primal and natural way.

"You want more?" he asks, wondering if we're moving too fast.

"Yes," I reply quickly. I can't hesitate with him. If he's willing, so am I.

"I don't think I can give you more. Not yet," he puffs, still helping me move up and down, but slowing down.

"Give me…please," I say, my voice sounding like a soft plea.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I can take whatever you give me, Edward. I want it."

"Are you sure?" he asks, almost out of breath.

"Please…I'll…never give up. Ever. Until I have…have you," I gasp, moving frantically against him. I lock my eyes with his, determined to have my way—so long as he offers to meet me in the middle.

"OK. I…trust you," he gasps. His strong arms direct my hips until I feel everything snap and rebound once more.

"Oh, oh, oh…Edward," I whimper, my head slumped against his neck. "Just take now, my beautiful man…just take," I whisper in his ear.

I watch his face, so fixed in concentration, and stroke his cheek when his body stills and he cums inside me. I smile to myself when he growls again and mutters more unintelligible words about his pretty flower, the one that makes him crazy.

I'm so tired that I'm barely awake when Edward carries me into bed, gingerly taking off my shoes and undressing himself. He settles into 'smooshing' position next to and almost on top of me right before I sink into sleep completely. The last thing I remember is a really vivid dream of his voice—clear as day.

'_Goodnight, brown eyes. I love you._'

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**DUN DUN DUN! Hey, you guys should expect that by now. It's becoming ubiquitous, like that sound on Law & Order.**

**Thanks to ****Robsessed83****, ****DragonsExist**** and****VanPireNZ**** for providing the accurate quote from canon when I tweeted for it!**

**Also, don't forget to check out my new blog, dedicated to romantic comedy TwiFic. The url has changed, for those of you who have visited before. It is:**

**http : / / chokintherubberchicken(dot)blogspot(dot)com**

**Just remove the spaces and replace the (dot) with a real one, of course!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you all for your insanely sweet reviews. I read each one and get all warm and fuzzy!**

**Thanks again to my beta, the sweet and ever-supportive, Nina, aka WriteOnTime. 'I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is while you're in the world.' :o)**

**This is TNGUSPOV.**

**

* * *

I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

_I just want to try saying it. To see how it feels._

"Goodnight, brown eyes. I love you," I whisper softly. I watch her stir slightly and smile in her sleep before settling in next to her.

_Nothing. Doesn't feel strange, but doesn't make me happy either. I guess it only has meaning when you know you're absolutely sincere and the other person actually hears you say it._

I take comfort, though, in the odd calmness that settles over me when I curl up next to her to sleep. Sleep used to be just a way to rest my body. Most times I slept only when utterly exhausted. My mind would shut down and I'd be so fatigued, I wouldn't even remember my dreams, if I had any.

That feeling of calm and comfort she provides me is another glaring reminder of how I simply take from her and give nothing back. This supposed 'favor' I do for her—it's preposterous to even look at that way. Having sex with her, no strings attached, is _my_ favor to _her_? If I were someone with a modicum of conscience or decency, I wouldn't have agreed to this.

_Even if I could love her, I wouldn't deserve any reciprocation._

She stirs again, shifting herself to face me and resting her head on my chest.

"Edward," she whispers.

"Hmm?"

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"How did you know?"

"Because you're not smothering me and snoring," she sighs, rubbing my cheek. "Here, maybe this will help," she says with a chuckle as she takes my hand and presses it to her breast. "Now you have your boob blankie—your boobkie," she snorts.

"Why, thank you, brown eyes. You can lend me your breasts anytime," I laugh, kissing her forehead. I gently rub her nipple with my thumb and yawn broadly. I think she must be right. Perhaps I do need a little quality time with her boobkie. It's these small things, no matter how quirky or silly, that she thinks of and bothers to share with me which make me truly unworthy. I wish I had something, anything, to give back.

"Sleep, Edward," she murmurs, patting my chest softly, rhythmically. A few more caresses of the boobkie and another yawn later, and I do manage to fall asleep peacefully.

The next week passes with both Bella and me being swamped with work. My work hours are grueling because I'm covering for a colleague who's on vacation, while Bella has her graduate school exam coming up. We can't even spend some time together on our usual Tuesday evening get-together because she needs to study. But nonetheless, she leaves me a packed dinner outside my door, always mindful that I'm practically too tired to eat, let alone cook.

At work, I find myself feeling irritable and quick-tempered. When I have the luxury to indulge my free time and think about my mood, the only thing I can focus on is that I haven't seen Bella. I can't quite grasp at why this is. The more I try to understand it, the only thing that keeps milling around in my brain is that I just have to see her or talk to her. As the days go by, this irrational notion just gets worse and worse. By Thursday, I feel out of my mind. I _need_ to talk to her—see her, touch her, hear her voice…anything.

The strange thing is I have no fucking idea _why_.

I don't know why because I don't actually have anything I need to talk to or see her about. Nothing whatsoever.

What's worse, I read her tweets every night, and not once does she even mention me. This causes a million thoughts to run wild through my mind.

_Was she not thinking about me like I was about her?_

_WHY NOT?_

_If some scrawny Harvard undergrad little emo poetry-writing punk is distracting her, stealing her attention, I will eviscerate him up with my bare hands._

By Friday, I resolve to pace at her front door if, when I knock on it, she's not there. Thankfully, by the time I finish my shift and scramble up the front steps, she's home.

"Hi, Edward," she says with a smile, ushering me inside. I can barely contain myself at the sight of her—gloriously unkempt hair in a bun that's practically coming loose, sweet, snug-fitting blue shirt with little buttons begging me to pop them open, and jeans that hug her pert ass in ways that make me jealous. _Of fabric_. Even her barefoot feet and bubble toes are a welcome sight to my eyes.

I grab her and hug her to me tightly the minute the door shuts.

"Oh, _oh_, OK," she laughs as I stop hugging her long enough to kiss her cheek and then hug her some more. I'll wager a guess that I'll stop at some point. I'm just not ready yet.

"Edward," she giggles. "What the hell brought this on? Don't tell me—is there some kind of weekend retreat for work and you need to butter me up?" she jokes. "I would've said 'yes' even without you crushing my ribs, you know."

"No," I say, my voice muffled by my face being buried in her neck. I lift my head and look at her; I can't help myself and hold her pretty face in my hands. "In fact, there's just a Ped's event at the hospital tomorrow—just an informal thing—a fall festival to entertain the kids. Not as important as the charity dinners," I explain.

"A festival for kids…who are sick?" she asks, tilting her head.

"Yeah, most are cancer patients." Her face just falls when she hears that.

"You don't want to go? I would've liked to meet them, maybe play with them," she says, looking disappointed. "I mean, if it's not important, then I guess it doesn't really ma…" she tries to say, but she shrugs her shoulder instead.

"I'm sorry, brown eyes, I shouldn't have mentioned it. I'm reminding you of your dad."

"That's never a bad thing. I miss him."

"I know you do. You know what? I'd be happy to go tomorrow, if you'll join me?" I ask. Her eyes look happy again and a smile spreads across her face. She nods, and this time, she hugs me to the point of nearly breaking _my_ ribs.

"Ouch, that's some grip you've got there, brown eyes," I joke, rubbing her back.

"Are you hungry?" she asks.

"God, I'm starving. And I love your food."

"We should stop hugging cos the hugging will lead to groping and then the groping starts up the grinding and before you know it, no one has any clothes on," she warns, palming my ass and completely ignoring her own advice. I ignore it too by running my hand up her shirt and deftly flicking her bra hooks open with my fingers.

"Hmm, wouldn't want this hug to get out of control," I agree, kissing her neck up and down.

"Edward…God…that feels nice," she murmurs, her hands under my scrub shirt and playing with my chest hair. I can smell her chocolate lotion when I unbutton her blouse and press my lips to her collarbone. When she tugs my shirt to pull it over my head, I don't stop her—I can't. I need her skin on mine just as much as she needs it.

A strange thing I've noticed with brown eyes is how I've become increasingly more insatiable to the point where I now realize that I have a voracious sexual appetite. I've always had a healthy libido, but over the years I've learned a lot about self control and stamina. It seems I'm slowly unlearning a lot of the things that became second nature to me because right now, all I can think about is her, everything about being close to her. Over the last week, I thought about her body, about touching her. Jerking off in the shower took the edge of, but it's not enough. My body craves _her_.

"We should stop, brown eyes," I try to protest.

"Why?" she asks, looking up at me curiously.

"Because I'm…not in the right mindset," I try to explain. She just tilts her head at me in confusion.

"I'm feeling…too eager, like I want to rush. I've been in a mood all week, and that usually gets me worked up."

"What's wrong with being 'worked up'?" she asks with a laugh. I sigh and try to compose myself.

"I want to touch you in a way that I shouldn't. I feel impatient. Bad moods usually do this to me. Ordinarily, I'd call someone who I know would like that sort of thing."

"Oh, I see," she replies, looking taken aback and letting her hands drop to her sides and away from me. "Um, I thought you weren't going to do that," she adds, her face looking dejected and embarrassed.

"Oh God, Bella, no! That's not what I meant. I don't want to call anyone or do anything with someone else. I was just trying to explain what I used to do—I mean, what I would do if I wasn't in this arrangement with you."

"Edward," she says sharply, looking frustrated. "Can you please just say what it is you mean?"

"Okay," I say before clearing my throat uncomfortably. "Let me just elaborate a little. Occasionally, when I'm feeling pissed off, frustrated, or whatever…I like to blow off steam with…"

"With what?" she urges.

"A quick fuck," I blurt.

"That's it?"

"That's not enough?"

"What's wrong with that? I was pretty up for it a minute ago until you starting talking so much."

"Brown eyes, I don't like the idea of touching you like that, of being…rough with you."

"Would you hurt me, cause me physical pain?"

"No, I would never do that."

"Then I still don't understand what the problem is."

"Brown eyes—this is supposed to be about you. And I would never touch you in a way that was disrespectful."

"Even if I told you I was okay with it? That maybe it's something I wouldn't mind trying? I have to admit, you're making such a fuss that now I'm curious!" she says with a laugh.

"You're agreeing to something you've never experienced, it's not like you can really make an informed decision about it," I try to argue, despite feeling overjoyed at her enthusiasm. I try to keep that part of me at bay.

"How am I supposed to find out if you won't try with me?" she demands, looking at me sideways and twisting up her mouth. "Besides…I've said this to you before. It doesn't always have to be about me—I thought the point of this was to teach me how to be good at intimacy, right?"

Her logic, while sound, makes my head spin regardless. I _am_ supposed to be teaching her. But teaching her…to _please_ another man? That thought disgusts me. She doesn't even need to please _me_, let another some asshole who doesn't deserve her. I don't really care what her reasons are; I want her to learn to feel beautiful, to know how sensual and alluring she is. That's all I'm willing to teach her because that's all she needs to know.

"Edward? Penny for your thoughts? You look angry. Did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all. Like I said, I'm just in a pretty crappy mood."

She puts her hands on my face and smiles before kissing me deeply. Lifting my hand from her waist, she places it on her breast and sighs.

"It's okay, I want you to. If I don't like it, I'll tell you to stop," she whispers into my lips. "You would never hurt me, Edward."

I think about the consequences of what refusing her would mean while I still have the willpower to do so. If I insist on not doing this, she will always be curious about it, and will perhaps look to another man to show her—but he would undoubtedly be completely unappreciative of her for it and his touch would do nothing but defile her. The mere idea of this tips my irritated mood to a breaking point.

"Brown eyes," I grumble, my voice thick with a mixture of raw lust and vexation—not at her, but at the thought of anyone but _me _doing what I'm about to do.

I push her into the back of the couch behind her and prop her ass up along the edge, eliciting a small gasp from her lips. My eyes rove all over her body, from head to toe, every inch of her calling out to me. I need…I need to fuck.

"_This_ is in my way," I growl with a raised eyebrow, fisting the material of her half-unbuttoned shirt. I pull it apart and the buttons pop off with almost no effort at all.

"Edward!" she exclaims in a small voice, her eyes wide and perfect. She looks down at her ripped-open shirt, then back at me, and without warning, presses herself to me, kissing me greedily and moaning.

I pull her bra straps down her arms, and the whole thing merely falls to the floor, having already been unclasped. I stare at her, exposed and laid bare in front of me, so vulnerable…so beautiful. I paw and grab at her breasts, sucking and biting everywhere.

"When I get like this, brown eyes…" I begin, cupping her breast and pulling on her nipple roughly as I watch it pucker and turn pink, "feeling frustrated, agitated…being a man, the testosterone in my system only compounds it…"

I growl in annoyance as I try to pull off her jeans as quickly as possible. I kneel in front of her, finally freeing her from her jeans and tossing them across the room.

"But without sex, my testosterone level will start to drop, so my libido increases exponentially to make sure that doesn't happen," I explain, pressing my fingers between her legs and twisting the fabric of her panties around them. "The aggression, you see, just triggers this raw need to…fuck…" I conclude, and with that, I rip her panties off with a shrill tearing sound.

"Edward, fuck me," she moans. Wasting no time, I seize her leg, and holding it up by her thigh, spread her open for me to do as I please. I barely have the patience to untie the drawstring of my scrubs and hastily move my boxers out of my way.

"Listen to me, Bella," I say in a low voice, using every ounce of my strength to keep my mind from going blank at the sight of her writhing into me, egging me on. "You have to promise me something."

"Anything," she tells me. She grips my face and stares at me, her lips parted open and her eyelids heavy.

"Don't _ever_ let another man touch you like this. _Ever._ He won't respect you for it; he won't be worthy." She simply nods her head. "Please, promise me!" I beg, my voice gravelly, urgent.

"I promise, Edward. I swear. I won't," she replies, shaking her head quickly. "Just you. This is only for you."

I let out a strangled grunt as I thrust into her as deeply as I can. Finally, I can satisfy this manic, selfish compulsion to fuck away my bad mood.

Her nails dig into my skin, impatient and demanding. But she needs to know that this isn't a game. This isn't something she should take lightly—surrendering herself to me, letting me touch her with gropes and tugs.

I ease my hand between her legs, using the pad of my thumb to tease her toward that gorgeous frenzy that I love to watch. She reacts quickly, moaning my name and pleading for more. Her unexpected enthusiasm propels my mind into the most intense urge to be possessive, greedy, covetous.

"That's right, you'll only let _me_ be this way with you. This delicious, warm, wet spot between your legs right here?" I say, pressing my thumb a little harder for emphasis.

"Oh God…" she whimpers, not taking her eyes off me.

"It's mine, brown eyes," I growl hungrily, looking down at myself disappearing into her her smaller body so perfectly, so completely. "Only _I_ get to do this to you, because this is mine," I growl as I pound into her.

"Whatever I have…it's yours," she urges, her breathing frantic. "But this…" she begins, running her fingertip along my temple, down my neck and to my chest, clutching roughly at my left pec muscle.

"Promise me you'll never let another woman have this," she hisses, her palm flat against my chest. "She won't be worthy."

"I can't. There's nothing…"

"Promise me!"

Her eyes look at me so pleadingly that a dull ache wells up in the pit of my stomach. I can't handle denying her—knowing that she wants something and can't have it causes a reaction in me so visceral and palpable, it almost takes on a life of its own.

"I promise, brown eyes."

She nods and gives me the sexiest fucking grin that makes me not want to talk anymore. I pull her hair so that her head tilts to the side, exposing her creamy white bare neck. I claim her with my teeth, sinking them into her. My thumb works the delicate flesh between her legs and before long, her whole body tenses and she starts to scream my name. I can't hold out any longer, not when I watch her cum like that, and soon I'm climaxing inside her, leaving my claim on her once again.

"Yes," she whimpers when she feels me filling her. "Take from me," she coos as I lay my head on her shoulder, completely spent and out of breath.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"For what?"

"Lots of things. Mostly that I should've controlled myself. And…"

"What?"

"There was no lesson."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm completely serious. I didn't really teach you anything. I'm sorry. It was a mistake, doing that."

She looks thoughtful. She looks up at me with a mixture of disappointment and hurt. I feel disappointed. I should've done the right thing and I didn't.

"If that's what you think, Edward," she says simply.

She walks quickly toward her bedroom and shuts the door behind her. Putting my shirt back on, I sit and wait for her to come back out, my head in my hands. Unable to wait any longer, I go to her bedroom door and wrap on it softly. She doesn't reply and despite my better judgment, I let myself in anyway. I walk in as quietly as I can in case she's sleeping, but she isn't.

"What are you reading?" I ask as I approach the foot of her bed. She's sitting up, a large mound of pillows behind her. The bookworm I gave her for her birthday sits on her lap, keeping her company.

_She prefers an inanimate object to me. Not a good sign._

"Robert Frost," she replies, not looking up.

Willing to risk her becoming out-and-out hostile toward me, I sit next to her, scooting myself as close as possible. It's difficult for her to ignore me when I'm in such close proximity.

"Edward," she sighs.

"What?"

"A couple of things. First, you're in my way. I can't read. Second, I don't especially want your nose in my cleavage right now."

"I want to lighten the mood. It's terribly somber in here."

"I want to lighten your IQ by bashing you over the head with my book."

"Please don't be mad at me. I don't know what I did, I swear I don't."

"I know you don't. And I'm not mad—not at you anyway."

"Who are you made at?"

"No one. Just…mad in general. Mad at life, I guess."

"Don't be mad, brown eyes. Or unhappy. You should only ever be contented. Your face is too pretty to be frowning."

I move her book and bookworm to her nightstand and rest my head in her lap, ingratiating myself on her whether she wants me there or not. I look up at her and smile, hoping I'm not irritating her. But her face is just lovely, her expression tender.

"If I could, I'd feel those unpleasant feelings for you, so you wouldn't have to," I offer. "I swear I would," I add, moving a stray lock of her from her face. I hope that telling her so will assuage her sadness and anger, at least a little.

But it fails miserably.

She closes her eyes with a loud shaky exhale of her breath and her chin starts to quiver.

"Edward," she whispers, pressing her forehead to mine and holding my cheek. "_Why_ do I put up with you?" she asks in a tiny voice.

"Because I always know which word you're looking for when you do your morning crossword?" I offer, hoping a joke will help the situation, and it does, a little at least.

"No," she says with a laugh, her eyes still closed and getting wetter.

"Brown eyes?" I say, repositioning myself so that Bella and I are both lying down, facing each other. I lift her chin with my fingertips. Her eyes are slightly puffy and red.

"What is it, Edward?"

"We can…we can end our arrangement if you want. If it's making you sad," I offer, but I'm inwardly pleading for her to say no.

"Is that…what you want?" she asks, the sadness in her eyes is clear as anything I've ever seen.

"No…yes. I mean, I don't want you to be sad. That's all. I want whatever you want. Do you want to stop?"

"No. I want to keep going."

"Okay."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No. I need to keep going."

"Okay."

"Brown eyes?"

"Hmm?"

"If I kissed you, would you feel better?"

"I don't want you to kiss me to make me feel better. You should kiss me because…you just want to."

"Well, I always just want to. But I was thinking…I dunno. I dunno what I was thinking. It's just that…sometimes I really want to 'fix' you but I don't know how."

She smiles and even laughs a tiny bit at that.

"Well, I can't say I don't appreciate you trying," she replies. I pull her closer to me, wrapping my arms around her, cradling her head on my shoulder. I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, her wet eyes and even the tip of her nose. "I think I'll take that kiss now," she whispers, lightly stroking my cheek.

And so, I give her a gentle, slow kiss to make up for whatever made her cry and for the way I touched her earlier. Our long kiss evolves into soft caresses and soon we're undressed again, but we move slowly and deliberately. Still facing each other, I lift her leg just enough to fit inside her before holding her face in my hands and rocking us both back and forth. She pulls my arm as she rolls onto her back, motioning for me to lie on top of her.

"I kind of like it this way…your smooshing, it actually feels nice," she confesses in a timid voice as she locks her legs around my hips and her arms around my chest.

"It's all I want for you, brown eyes—want to always make you feel nice," I whisper in her ear.

I hold her face in my hands, kissing her lightly and moaning into her mouth when we both cum for a second time. She sighs when I let more of my weight bear down on her, pinning her body under me more fully. I'm too tired and sated to resist collapsing on her but judging by the sigh, I think she really does like it.

"Are you hungry?" she asks.

"Mmm."

"I take that as a 'yes,'" she says with a chuckle as I feel her body shake under me.

"You know, you have to move if you want me to make you some food."

"Mmm."

"Can I get up now?"

"No."

"Please? See, I'm not even threatening you with physical violence. That's how hungry I am—I'm resorting to pleasantries and manners."

"Well, you still can't get up."

"Why not?" she asks with an annoyed yet adorable pout. I sit up and pull her onto my lap.

"Because I don't want you to cook," I tell her. "I'm going to order some Chinese take-out, and you're going to eat it with me, without moving."

"I can't eat without moving unless you plan on feeding my intravenously, Edward."

"Don't be a wise ass, brown eyes. I meant without leaving the bed."

"I don't normally eat in bed, though."

"Tough. If we make a mess, I'll buy you new sheets. Hell, I'll buy you a whole new bed. This one's too small anyway."

"What difference does it make? You always lie on top of me anyway."

"Can't deny that—I do love being on top of you."

"You're a pig. I should just cook you for dinner. Sweet and Sour Pork."

"Not hot and spicy? I'm a little insulted."

"Nope. You're sweet and sour."

"I'd call you 'Buddha's Delight' but I don't think even he has the Zen-like patience to handle you, brown eyes."

"Ha. Ha. You're funny. I guess I'll have to settle for being 'Butthead's Delight' then."

"I guess so. Can I touch your pork buns?"

"Only if you don't mind an elbow to your spare ribs."

"But I wouldn't trade you for my entire fortune, cookie."

"Enough. Order the food before I kung pao you in your candied walnuts."

"You're no chow fun."

"Seriously? I'm going to kill you now."

Clearly I'm pushing all my luck and all her buttons but I don't care. I'm too relieved that she isn't sad anymore and too happy that we are back to talking to each other and laughing like we always do.

An hour later, we're still on her bed, me sitting up and Bella on my lap, both of us stuffing ourselves with take-out. I feed her chunks of sesame chicken because she is hopeless with chopsticks. Pulling her Robert Frost book off her nightstand, she flips it open to a specific page and starts to read aloud from it.

_I shall be telling this with a sigh_  
_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_  
_two roads diverged in a wood, and I --_  
_I took the one less traveled by,_  
_And that has made all the difference._

"Is that a favorite of yours?" I ask.

"Yeah. I like to read it now and again. Reminds me to try to be my own person. Follow my own way."

"What if you get lost?" I ask, half playful, half serious.

"You can't get lost if you follow your own path. Besides, we all have a map. Well, more like an internal GPS."

She can undoubtedly surmise by the blank look on my face that I haven't the foggiest idea what she could possibly mean.

"Your heart, Edward," she says with a deep sigh. "It tells you where to go."

"Ah. I didn't realize there even was a road, let alone two of them. This is why I leave the poetry to you, brown eyes," I say, wiping her chin gently with a take-out napkin. "Speaking of literature," I continue, "how did your graduate entrance exam go?"

"It went fine," she replies, shrugging her shoulder.

"What's wrong? You seem pretty blasé about it."

"Well, I'm just not sure anymore. I mean, I've been thinking lately that maybe I should put more thought into my goals before committing to them…you know, make sure this is really what I want to do. I've never actually sat and done that. Sounds a little ridiculous doesn't it? To not know what you want, and not know because you never thought about it."

"No, not really. I think it's better to think about it now than to go do something you later realize you never really wanted to in the first place."

"That's what I keep telling myself. And my mom is no help. She just says 'do what makes you happy.' She's easygoing to the point of being an enabler. My dad was so much better at helping me focus and tease out my thoughts."

We're quiet for a minute because I know she needs a little silence whenever her father comes up in conversation. She feels his absence keenly and the more she tells me about the little details of their relationship, the more I understand why.

"Don't worry, brown eyes. It'll come to you. Whatever it is you're meant to do, you'll figure it out."

"You're even vaguer than my mom," she says with a laugh, rolling her eyes at me.

"Hey, I'd offer you a job as my personal omelet chef if I thought you'd accept."

"Oh yes, Edward, it's my life's dream to make your eggs every morning. I can serve it to you on a tray in bed. I'll even shake your hoochies loose from the linens if you like," she snorts, lightly smacking me with her bookworm before getting up and padding into the bathroom.

I know she was only joking about 'the hoochies,' but the otherwise light mood I was in while thinking about her feeding me breakfast in bed suddenly vanishes.

Hearing her mentioning other women leaves me feeling slightly…deflated.

_Deflated—ha. I have lost all faith in my dick. It only wants Bella, and it doesn't care if she's in her ridiculous penguin PJs or the hottest little silk thong. She can be sleeping or writhing underneath me. She could say 'pass the salt' or 'good little cocksucker.' It doesn't matter. It just has to be her._

I clean up our little in-bed picnic and start getting my shoes on when Bella emerges from the bathroom smelling of toothpaste and wearing her PJs.

"You're leaving?" she asks, looking a little disappointed. "I thought we'd hang out, but if you have plans…"

"Well, you didn't expect me to sleep in that tiny bed, did you?" I ask with a smirk. She doesn't laugh, in fact, she looks hurt.

_She thinks I'm going without her?_

"Oh, I guess not. Sorry," she says, looking at her feet.

"Come on, brown eyes," I say, holding the door open and motioning toward the hallway with my head.

Her face lights up and she breaks into a smile before grabbing her phone off the coffee table.

"What, you thought I was gonna leave my boobkies down here? It's not like I can reach them from upstairs," I add, smacking her ass as she passes me. I quickly sprint ahead of her so she can't hit me back, which I know just makes me really get under her skin.

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**DUN DUN DUN! Okay, so it wasn't really necessary but I had to say it. It's just obligatory at this point. Next chapter will again be in TNGUSPOV.**

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	15. Chapter 15

**Welcome back! I have to thank you all again for the reviews. TNGUS is approaching the 4k mark and you've all been so lovely and wonderful in your comments. In the immortal words of Wayne and Garth: I'm not worthy.**

**Thanks to my beta and internet life partner, Nina, aka WriteOnTime. Do you people realize how big a heart this woman has? She's like a giant heart with legs.**

* * *

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

The Volvo's engine hums to life as I turn the key in the ignition. It's a pretty chilly day out, being fall, so I turn the heat up and laugh to myself when I catch Bella trying to warm her hands against the vent like she's sitting in front of a fire.

"Pretty cold, huh?" I tease.

"Be quiet, you. I'm from Arizona. I'll _never_ get used to this weather," she complains, despite the smile on her face.

"It hasn't even gotten that cold yet. What do you do in January, wear a snowsuit?"

"Practically. I wear so many layers, it takes me half an hour to get dressed," she confesses with a chuckle. "I guess you're used to cold weather—being from Chicago."

"Actually, I didn't grow up there. I'm from New Haven," I explain.

"Oh. I remember you telling me your mom's family was from Chicago."

"Yeah, my mom grew up there, but she went to Yale and stayed in Connecticut."

"Did you like living there?" she asks hesitantly. I know she can sense my discomfort.

"It was alright. My mom struggled a bit to support us. But I didn't even realize it at the time that we didn't have much money. She was good at making do without a lot."

"But if she went to Yale…" Bella says, clearly confused as to why an Ivy League-educated person wouldn't earn a decent living.

"She did, but she dropped out when I was born. She quit half-way through."

We're quiet after that, and I'm grateful not to have to dredge up any more details of my childhood. My happy memories are far out-numbered by the demons that have plagued me for half my life.

I pull into a reserved spot in the hospital parking lot when Bella grabs my hand and kisses it. This surprises me. I would've thought that my reticence in discussing my family would make her feel apprehensive toward me.

"What was that for?" I ask, smiling at her.

"You looked sad."

"I'm not. Just thinking about sad stuff."

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. Just curious about you, like I've said before."

"It's okay. There are things that…I'd sooner forget than talk about." Bella simply nods her heads and purses her lips.

"If you ever did want to talk about it, I'd listen," she offers in a soft voice.

"Thank you, brown eyes," I reply, kissing her hand in return.

"Should we get this party started?" she jokes.

"Let's do it," I respond in agreement before exiting the car and opening Bella's door for her.

"So I take it you don't hang around kids much?" she asks.

"Afraid not. Once they're born, I hand them to a pediatrician. That's about as much interaction as I've had with them. It's not that I don't like kids, I just don't know anyone with children," I explain. "What about you?"

"I babysat a lot in high school to earn spending money. Our neighbors next door in Phoenix had a huge family—seemed like they always had a baby or a toddler around," she says with a laugh. "I'd watch the younger ones when their mom needed help. I love babies the most…the way their skin smells," she confesses with a blush.

As she talks, my brain is hijacked by all kinds of absurd images.

_Bella pregnant…Bella in a rocking chair, holding a newborn…Bella bouncing an infant against her shoulder, trying to get it to burp…Bella playing 'airplane' with a spoonful of unidentifiable mush as a four-toothed baby grins at her from a highchair._

Images…that make me happy…and more than mildly terrified.

_Why would I want that with her? Doesn't make any sense._

"Helllllo? Edward? Earth to Edward?" Bella urges, waving her hand in front of my face.

"What? Shit, sorry. I was daydreaming," I reply, shaking my head to clear it.

"I noticed. The elevator doors opened and shut about ten times with you just standing there. I almost left without you the first time," she laughs.

"So were you being hand-fed a bunch of grapes and fanned with a giant ostrich feather?"

"When?" I ask, perplexed.

"In your daydream, silly. Isn't that your idea of a good daydream?" she teases with a smirk.

"Not exactly. But now that you mention it…are you the one doing the feeding and the fanning?" I tease back, grabbing her small waist with my hands as the elevator door opens again. This time, we manage to walk inside. I press the button for the floor we need while I continue goading her.

"What are you wearing while you're being so happily subservient, hmmm? Are you dressed like _I Dream of Jeannie_?" I ask, putting my hand behind her neck and kissing that little spot below her jaw that gives her goosebumps.

"I dream of slapping you upside the head sometimes, Edward," she whispers, but the tone of her voice completely belies her threat. Her voice is delicate, wistful. She tucks her fingers inside the back pockets of my jeans in an attempt to inconspicuously fondle my ass.

The ding of the elevator doors interrupts our little impromptu make-out session and I settle for just having my arm around her. We're greeted by Aro and Heidi as we walk into the hallway that leads to the hospital's massive medical library. The main common area is often cleared away for social gatherings like this one. I joke to myself that it's probably the cleanest area of the hospital—hardly anyone uses the library.

"Fancy meeting you here, Edward. Good to see you," Aro says as I take his out-stretched hand to shake it firmly.

"Hello, Aro. Thank you. Actually, it was Bella's idea to come today," I say, motioning at her as she walks ahead of me, chatting with Heidi.

"Is that so? Well, I'm not surprised. She's a smart girl—and clearly a good influence on you," he replies with a bright smile.

"She is indeed," I agree, somewhat sheepishly.

We step inside the library, which has been decorated with streamers and balloons for the occasion. Small groups of children and families are gathered in various spots, enjoying the activities that have been set up for them. I watch Bella and can't help but smile at her enthusiasm as she excitedly skips over to a table occupied by kids working on arts and crafts.

I make my way around the room to say hello to colleagues and chat. I steal glances at Bella when she's not looking in my direction. I watch her talk and laugh animatedly as she goes from one child to the next, looking at their artwork or helping them with their glue or paintbrush.

Looking for any excuse to approach her, I bring Bella a small plate of snacks while she's deep in conversation with a little girl who looks to be around five or six years old.

"Thought you might like something to eat," I say, sitting the plate down next to her.

"Thanks," she says, turning to me and smiling. "I'm helping my friend Emily paint her ceramic turkey. Right, Emily?" The little girl sitting next to her smiles and nods.

"That's a beautiful turkey you've got there," I reply, crouching down between them to get a better look. They both giggle at me and for a second I can't really tell which one is the grown adult and which one isn't.

"Miss Bella? I have to tell you a secret," Emily announces. Bella's eyes go playfully wide and she winks at me.

"A secret, huh? I love secrets," she tells the little girl.

Emily leans over me and covers her mouth with her hand. She tells Bella her secret in a whisper that's louder than her normal speaking voice.

"Miss Bella, your husband is _very_ handsome," she declares. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Bella shows no such decorum and just lets the laughter bubble right out of her, her entire face lighting up.

"Oh, he's not my husband. I'm too smart for him. He'd have to trick me," she explains, looking right at me. "But I agree. He is a _little_ handsome," she adds, feeding me a cookie from her plate.

"She's mean to me, Emily," I complain with a heavy-hearted sigh as they both laugh.

"Is she your _girlfriend_?" a little boy across the table asks. He looks completely disgusted by the idea.

_Cheer up, kid. It only gets worse._

"This lady, here?" I ask incredulously, pointing at Bella and pretending to be shocked. "Oh no. I like what she cooks, but that's it," I reply, looking at her and smirking. "But sometimes," I explain, putting my hand on her back, "when she smiles, it makes me forget what I was going to say."

"My dad says that's cos love makes you stupid," the boy across the table informs me.

"Yeah, I guess your dad's right about that," I reply.

She looks at me briefly, then down at the paintbrushes in her hands. Her face turns pink despite her smile.

"See how he tries to trick me?" she asks Emily in a whisper, who giggles in response.

After carving some pumpkins and playing 'pin the feather on the turkey,' the kids' artwork is auctioned off for fundraising and I make a few purchases of my own. I end up spending a nice amount of money, but it's for a good cause.

"For you, brown eyes," I say, holding up Emily's ceramic turkey for Bella to keep.

"Aw, thanks, Edward. That auction was getting a little too rich for my blood," she replies, examining my gift to her closely. "I've never seen a turkey with pink and purple feathers," she adds with a laugh.

The party starts to wind down and so we make our goodbyes—Bella to all the new young friends she's made and me to co-workers. Aro approaches me while Bella stops to talk to an older woman who I don't recognize but is wearing a hospital ID badge, so she must work here.

"I see you made the most of the auction," Aro says, smiling and shaking my hand again as he walks towards the exit with his wife.

"Yes, you can never have too many turkey drawings made from hand tracing," I joke. Aro laughs and nods his head in agreement. He sees me glance over at Bella for what must be the hundredth time since we got here.

"You know, Edward, let me offer you a bit of advice—not as your boss, but as an old guy who managed to learn a few things. A woman who's attractive, intelligent, compassionate…she doesn't come along very often. I'd hang on to her if I were you," he says, slapping me on the back before turning and leaving.

I watch Bella work toward me, smiling broadly, as I think about what Aro said. He's right. It's not just that a woman like Bella is rare—it's that there is no one like her at all, not to me, at least.

"Have a good time?" I ask, helping her with her coat.

"I had so much fun," she replies, wrapping her wooly scarf loosely around her neck.

"Good. I'm glad we came."

"Me too."

"Who was that person you were talking to just now?" I ask as we walk toward hospital exit.

"Oh, that was one of the hospital social workers. She saw me playing with the kids and asked if I'd be interested in volunteering," she explains.

"What do you think? Is that something you'd like to do?"

"I'm interested, definitely. I mean, I didn't say 'yes' on the spot because I need to make sure I have time. I got her card though and told her I'd think about it."

"You'd be great at it. I saw how much those kids loved you. And you looked like you were having fun," I say, leading her into the elevator.

"Yeah, well they were very sweet. I just…you know…tried not to dwell on how sick they were. I mean, I tried not to be sad about it, so that I could just have fun with them," she explains, her brow furrowed slightly.

"I can understand that. It's the same sort of thing when you treat patients. You sort of have to focus on what you're doing instead of why," I say, opening the passenger side door of the car for her.

A few minutes pass before I notice that Bella's been very quiet. The sad expression on her face explains her silence.

"What's wrong?" I ask, putting my hand on her thigh.

"They're going to die, aren't they?" she asks back in a soft voice.

"I don't know, brown eyes. But they're pretty sick."

"I can't just feel sorry for them, Edward. But I can't help them, either."

"Sure you can. You helped them today—you made them happy."

"I suppose. I wish I could do more."

"Well, then maybe you should make time to volunteer."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll call the social worker on Monday. Thanks, Edward."

"For what? I didn't do anything."

"You helped me figure something out. And now I feel better."

She hums to herself and looks out the window. I peek at her profile and how serene and soft her expression is. Bella would be great with those kids as a volunteer and I think she'd get a lot out of it.

It occurs to me that she'd be spending time at the hospital now, and that means perhaps seeing more of her…_quickies in the doctor's lounge with the door locked…Bella bringing me food during a long shift._ I can't help but smile.

"What's with the big goofy grin?" Bella asks.

"Oh, no reason," I lie.

"Come on. Tell me. What's going on in that hallowed-husk?" she asks, knocking on the side of my head for emphasis.

"Very funny, mistress," I tease back, poking fun at her fondness for being horrible to me.

"Tell me, or…I'll start be hideously nice to you. To the point of obsequious fawning. It will torture you."

"Oh no," I say in feigned horror, "anything but that. I wouldn't recognize you. Only your smile would give you away," I tell her, rubbing her thigh lightly.

"My smile, huh? Did you mean that earlier—what you said when I was playing with Emily?"

"Sure I did. I mean, I might have said it right then because that kid sitting across from you looked like he was about to put the moves on you. I know a player when I see one," I joke. "Had to set that kid straight…cos you're _my_ lady," I say in my best 'smooth talker' voice.

"Your lady? You sound like Barry White when you say it like that. '_My lady_,'" she says in a ridiculous deep voice.

"Well you know… '_I've heard people say that too much of anything is no good for you, baby. Oh, no. But I don't know about that…_'" I say with a smirk, doing my best Barry White impression. Bella laughs so hard, she doubles over in her seat.

"I have to be honest, Edward. I'm starting to feel bad for your hoochies. These poor women don't have a chance with you talking like that," she teases, biting her lip.

"Oh no, brown eyes. Barry's just for you," I say, and I mean it. I've been charming with women in the past, but I never just teased and joked with them like I do with her.

"Just for me! I'm honored. Does that make me head hoochie?"

"Come on now. I'd never think of you like that," I reply, getting a little serious for a minute.

"I know. I'm just messing around," she says, slapping my arm. She seems hesitant to say more but then she does. "How do you think of me?" she asks, looking down at her lap awkwardly.

"You know," I say, parking the car outside the brownstone. I turn and face her. "I tell you all the time," I add, moving her hair out of her face and pushing it behind her ear.

"Yeah, you do. But when you say it, it…don't laugh, okay?" she says, looking so beautifully bashful, it's enough to make a grown man weep.

"Never."

"When you say it…like you mean it so sincerely…it gives me this feeling, it's so weird, like nothing I've ever felt. Like I'm warm all over and just…happy," she whispers.

"What do you want me to tell you, brown eyes? What do you want to hear?"

"Anything. Just say it like you always do. Makes me feel a million feet high."

"You," I say, holding her chin in my palm, "are ridiculously sexy and beautiful. More so than any of those women you call 'hoochies.' So much so that sometimes I can't stop thinking about you," I confess.

"Oh God, Edward. I…just…I wish I could hear you talk like that all day," she says, hiding her face in her hands.

"Hey now, no hiding," I tell her, peeling her hands away and holding them.

"When you're shy like this…it's pretty, did you know that?"

"Don't tease me," she says with a little frown.

"Why would I tease you about something like that? It's true," I tell her, and before I know it, I have my seat pushed all the way back, with Bella straddling my lap, pulled on top of me by my own hands.

"You make my mind go blank, Edward," she says accusingly, holding my face.

"I'm sorry. You seem to enjoy it, though," I offer, my hands all over her ass.

"I know—that's the worst part," she sighs, pressing her lips to my neck. My hands need to touch her everywhere, to the point where it's all I can think about.

"Brown eyes…" I say into her hair, kissing the top of her head.

"What?" she asks with a small smile, looking right at me. I almost can't keep my composure when she looks at me like that—playful, sweet, yet so fucking desirable, I'd offer her anything just to touch her.

"I want to take you upstairs…show you how beautiful I think you are."

"Can I show you something too?" she asks, rubbing her body against me, torturing me.

"What, brown eyes?" I ask back.

"Want to show you…how good a teacher you are," she whispers in my ear.

"I'd like that," I murmur back.

It's one thing to want to get a woman undressed, to take her to bed and play with her body like a cat with a string…but this is another thing entirely. I can no longer distinguish between the person who teases me with words and the woman who teases me with soft touches and sighs. She…is an entire person, not 'that one with the great tits,' or 'that other one with the nice ass.' And I have to have all of her—her body and her mind.

"Just hold me…everywhere," she says, nuzzling into me, grinding her body into mine.

"Please, brown eyes, I have to take you upstairs…I have to," I urge, my voice a low growl.

"I couldn't say no, no matter what," she whispers.

A few minutes later, we're facing each other on my bed, kneeling and pulling each other's shirts off. Bella hurriedly takes off her bra to press herself against me.

"Edward…" she purrs as I lick her nipple, "can I suggest the lesson this time?"

"Anything," I reply, easing her out of her long flowing skirt. I bite my lip when I see her in another thong—black lace this time.

"I need to review…" she says with a smile as she surprises me by lying me down, then sits up with me between her legs, straddling my hips.

"Review what exactly?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Umm, I dunno…this maybe?" she answers with a sexy laugh as her hands skim over my chest. "And this," she breathes, kissing up and down my neck. "Not to mention this," she purrs, gyrating herself against my hard-on and licking her lips.

"Jesus…" I groan, cupping her ass with my hands.

"No, no," she chastises, pulling my hands off her and placing them at my sides.

"Every student needs to learn how to teach themselves, right?" she teases, holding my wrists in her hands. "So, be good and let me study…study _you_."

I'm so insanely turned on by her taking control like this; all I can do is dumbly nod my head. And try not to jizz myself.

I will myself to lie back and try to relax as her hands and lips roam everywhere. Some spots give her pause and she looks at them curiously—like my left nipple, which she seems to enjoy licking and tugging at with her teeth while watching my face. She also notices that I have a sensitive spot in the crook of my elbow, on the inside of my arm. When she covers it with kisses and little bites, I fight the urge to flip us over and have my way with her.

"Careful brown eyes, you're getting too curious for your own good," I warn, grabbing her hand in mine.

"Curiosity does something, doesn't it? To the _cat_?" she teases, rubbing herself on me shamelessly. God, I love it when she's shameless.

"Bella, you're making me insane—little by little, piece by piece," I confess, pulling her down toward me to kiss her. "And I think I'm the happiest man alive to ever be going completely out of his mind."

"Oh it's nothing you don't richly deserve," she says with a laugh, tracing my lips with the tip of her finger.

Her hair falls in front of her face, covering it partially. She looks…I don't even have words for it anymore. There's nothing in my vocabulary that really describes her. 'Beautiful' is only one part of it—the same with 'sexy.' She's my ingénue, yet my equal…my student and my teacher…my friend and my lover.

"Bella, I want to…"

"Not yet. Let me study my favorite subject," she says, easing her way down my body and kissing a trail along my torso.

"Fucking flawless," I murmur, watching her face as her mouth works the length of me up and down. When her hand delicately massages my balls, exploring a place it's never been before, I clench my teeth—desperate to keep control so I can enjoy this as long as possible. But when I see that playful look in her eye and she starts to hum, there's no use trying to hold back and I practically see stars when the heat in my groin rolls outward and I cum in her perfect little mouth.

"My turn," I inform her with a wicked grin, pulling her up from the bed and standing her against the wall. She looks perplexed as to why we're not sitting or lying down.

"How come…" she tries to ask, but I interrupt her.

"Have you ever cum standing up?" I ask, playing with her nipple with my fingers. Her eyes go wide before she shakes her head 'no.'

"Well, you're in for a little treat," I tell her, now cupping her breast while my fingers pull and pinch at it. "Because gravity ensures that as much blood goes right here," I whisper into her ear while dipping my fingers into her panties, "as possible." She whimpers when she feels me lightly flick her clitoris.

"And that means…" I add, kneeling in front of her, "you may just cum as hard as you ever have."

I do away with her panties and give Mona a light peck on the pubic bone.

"Where would you like me to touch you?" I tease, kissing her navel.

"You know…don't torment me," she moans.

"Show me. Show me the exact spot."

Using both hands, her fingertips gently press into the flesh between her legs and move apart, exposing her delicate pink clitoris.

"Here…want you to touch me here," she whispers. I smile when she looks right at me—pleased that she isn't too embarrassed to make eye contact with me.

My finger touches her very lightly, back and forth, making her sigh.

"Like this?" I tease again.

"No. With your mouth…and your tongue," she answers, her breathing becoming more rapid.

"Like this?" I ask, barely touching the tip of my tongue to her.

"Edward, please," she moans, rocking her hips futilely.

"Look at me, or I won't," I warn. Her eyes snap open immediately.

"I need you…need to feel you," she urges.

"I'll give you what you need, whenever you need it," I tell her. "But I want you to watch me and talk to me…the whole time, okay?"

"Anything," she replies, her voice thick with desire.

I replace her hands with my own and press my lips and tongue to her, moving very slowly and deliberately. She starts to talk and her words are delicate, wispy—and not at all what I'm expecting.

"You…are so…handsome. I love…to look at you," she confesses tentatively.

"Sometimes…I wish I'd never…met you…but then I'd be lonely and sad right now…if I hadn't.

"Your tongue…can make me feel…incredible things… good and bad…I feel them…in my heart…_oh, God_…" she moans. Her entire body starts to shudder as she climaxes, and I have to support her weight for her by holding her up by the waist.

She burrows herself into my shoulder as we lay side-by-side on the bed. I throw my arm and leg over her, not really concealing my tendency to enjoy pinning her underneath me.

"Thank you for that, Edward," she mumbles with a yawn.

"Need a nap?" I ask, stroking her cheek.

"Yeah. I'm meeting friends at the movies tonight. I'll probably be up late."

_Friends? I must admit that I don't particularly like the sound of that._

"Just friends?"

"No, my boyfriend will be there too. Wait, did I not tell you about him? You know the one I'm talking about—that guy who doesn't exist, remember?"

"Is he a big dude? Think I could take him?"

"You want to beat up my non-existent boyfriend?"

"Yeah, cos what kind of boyfriend is he if I'm here with you and he's not? Obviously he isn't very good to you if you need me around."

"Oh, I _need_ you around, do I?"

"Well, sure you do…um…don't you?"

"I often wonder whether I should've just bought a vibrator. Does that answer your question?"

"I'm getting hard again."

"And?"

"I was thinking maybe we could do something about it. I mean, it is pretty much all your fault that it's happening."

"My fault? I'm just laying here, ready to take a nap."

"But you're being mean and cruel. You know what that does to me. Plus you make me eggs, and all that protein is giving me a lot of stamina."

"You and your eggs. I could cook them in my sleep now."

"No, don't sleep-cook. You're liable to burn down the entire brownstone."

"Quit being a jackass."

"Sorry, keep talking."

"Your eggs—you like them very slightly runny. And you're fussy about not using too much cheese, but you always like them more when I use a lot."

I had no idea she paid such close attention to stuff like this. It gives me an odd mixture of happiness and gratitude to hear it. I don't think anyone's ever known me that well in a very long time.

"Brown eyes?"

"Hmm?"

"Would it be strange if I thought of you…as my best friend?" I ask, hesitating at that last part, unsure of how she'll react.

She looks at me thoughtfully for a minute, almost as if she's deliberating on how to answer.

"No…I mean…there's absolutely _nothing_ strange about this arrangement already, right?" she laughs.

"Yeah, point taken."

"Hey, since we're 'besties' now, would you like to come to the movies with me? It's a very best friend-like thing to do."

"Right, well, considering this new facet of our relationship, I don't feel right refusing."

_And I will not be forced to wear a path back and forth across my living room until you come back later tonight._

"Alright then, new BFF," she says, yawning. "I need a nap," she adds, almost unconsciously moving her arm out of the way of my hand so I can access a boobkie.

We wake up a couple of hours later and hurriedly get showered and changed because we're running late.

We get to a packed theatre where Bella is flagged down by a petite woman with short spiky hair—I recognize her. Bella introduced me to her when she first moved into the brownstone.

"Bella Ball-sack, over here!" she screams crudely.

"Jeez, I haven't even sat down yet," Bella protests at her friend. "And already you're starting."

"She's cranky cos we got here late too," a very comely blonde sitting next to her informs us. I recognize her as well. "The only seats we could save for you were behind us," she adds, grabbing her purse and coat from the seats she's made sure no one else sat in. "Although, I do really enjoy it…from behind," Rose tells me with a wink.

"Thanks, Rose," Bella replies sarcastically as she slides into her chair. "Edward, you remember my two ass-hatted friends, Alice and Rose," she adds, gesturing toward the spiky haired woman and the blonde, respectively. I nod and we briefly say our hellos.

"Where are the stud ponies?" Bella asks with a chuckle.

"They're buying snacks," Rose answers. "Text Emmett if you want something."

"No, no. I can go," I say, insisting. I get up and make my way to the concession counter, where I spot Jasper Whitlock—who, I learned through Twitter, is now dating Alice.

I shake hands with him and he introduces me to his good friend Emmett, who Jasper had mentioned to me quite a bit over the summer. We chat for a while as we wait our turn in line.

"Say, Jasper," I say as we walk back to our seats, drinks and popcorn in hand. "You know how I found you on Twitter?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says with a friendly nod.

"Can you do me a favor and not mention to Bella that I use it? I…um…I read her tweets but she doesn't know that I do. I'm going to tell her, I swear," I ask, practically begging him to keep this quiet.

"Damn, dude. Good luck with that. But sure, no worries. You don't want her finding out from someone else. It's cool," he replies with a shrug.

I feel insanely relieved at not having to worry about a possible confrontation with Bella at the movies, of all places. I _do_ plan on telling her—in fact, I promise myself to discuss it with her later tonight when we're alone. I feel guilty about having kept it to myself for this long.

I take my seat next to brown eyes and enjoy watching her talk so animatedly with her girl friends before she leans back and tucks into the popcorn with me.

"Thank you for the snacks. How much do I owe you?" she asks.

"Come on, you did not just ask me that."

"Fine," she says, rolling her eyes. "I guess best friends can treat each other," she laughs.

"Damn straight they can."

We wait for the trailers to start when I notice Bella singing and humming along to the music being piped into the theatre. I recognize the song from an old musical.

"_Anything you can do, I can do better. I can do anything better than you…_" she sings to me. Her legs are crossed and her foot sways back and forth to the music.

_Oh, is that right?_

"Can you whistle?" I ask. She nods her head and whistles to the music. I whistle louder. She puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles so loud, the whole place goes quiet, everyone staring at us. She shrugs her shoulders in response…and _points at me_.

_You'll pay for that, little girl._

I take a piece of popcorn, toss it in the air, and catch it in my mouth. Bella tries and fails—three times in a row—while I succeed every time. Finally, she takes a handful from the big bucket between us and chucks it at my head.

"Sore loser," I say, as she picks popcorn from my hair.

"Staring contest?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. I don't even answer. I'm too busy looking into her eyes without moving. She stares back, her mind obviously focused on not blinking.

"Farts!" she blurts—an obvious ploy to get me to laugh and blink. It doesn't work. I can stand stock still if I have to.

"Bella, I'm a guy. Farts are like a second language to me."

"You do talk out of your ass."

"Okay, that was actually really funny, but I'm not blinking."

"Fine, I need to think of something that will make you blink."

"How about 'I love you?'" I say. Now _I'm_ the one blurting.

"You love me?"

"No, I meant you say it to me."

"What? No. You said you were gonna say 'I love you.'"

"Brown eyes, I was telling you to say it."

"Were not."

"Was too."

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"You love me."

"Shit, you made me blink."

"YES!"

"Is that necessary? Really? A victory dance?" I ask as she writhes around in her seat like a wet noodle—arms outstretched over her head.

The lights dim slightly and soon the trailers begin. I'm trying to focus my attention on the screen but I keep turning and looking over at Bella.

_Cheater. Sneaky little non-blinking cheater. I should've known she'd break me._

But I had to be honest with myself. I've never been so happy to lose to another person. She has me eating out of the palm of her hand and I suppose the idea of that would've been absurd to me in the past. But I'm finding I quite enjoy that someone knows how I like my eggs and gives me her boobkie but refuses to let me buy her damned popcorn and even throws it at me when her pride is injured.

I study her face more closely and I can't help but notice that she looks slightly unhappy. Her eyes dart back and forth at the two couples in front of us—how they're both sitting with their arms wrapped around each other, smiling and whispering to one another. Jasper massages Alices neck slowly. Emmett plays with Rose's hair. I think these public gestures are making her sad—because she doesn't have someone to make them with.

I set the popcorn down on the floor, touching her hand briefly in the process. As usual, her hands are freezing.

"Hey, are you cold?" I whisper in her ear.

"A little, why?"

"No reason. Just don't want you to be," I say, lifting the armrest between us. I take my jacket off before putting my arm around Bella and draping her with my jacket like a blanket. I feel her take a long, deep breath and relax into me, resting her head on my shoulder.

She kisses my cheek and whispers a small 'thank you' into my neck. We watch the entire movie without saying a word. But I try to tell her everything I feel about her when I kiss her hair or rub her arm and she thanks me by playing with my hand or patting my chest.

The lights go up and we stretch in our seats before getting up to leave. Bella and I stand and say our goodbyes.

"Alice, what are you doing on your phone? Were you texting during the movie?" Bella asks.

"No, I'm on Twitter. Hey—how come you guys don't follow each other?" she asks innocently, looking up between Bella and me. "Edward and Jazz do."

_Oh shit._

_

* * *

_

(all together now)

**DUN DUN DUN!**

**Tune in next time to see if TNGUS can pull off being all smooth like Barry White and sing his way out of this one.**

**SUPPORT THE FANDOM GIVE BACK! **_**PLEASE**_** donate whatever you can for their Alex's Lemonade Stand fundraiser. I'll be auctioning off my own writing—in fact, my good friend Shelley is organizing a pool called TeamTNGUS, where they're hoping to raise a nice pile of ducats in exchange for a 25K TNGUSPOV one-shot. You can join TeamTNGUS by sending a PM to sunshine00 (those are two zeroes) through FFnet or by tweeting sunshine_00.**

**To find out more info on The Fandom G****ives Back, check out their blog:**

**thefandomgivesback(dot)blogspot(dot)com**

**Edited to add: I completely forgot to explain the song references. DUR. The Barry White quoted by Edward is from **_**Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe.**** Listen to it here:**_

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com / watch ?v=x0I6mhZ5wMw**

**The show tune Bella sang along to at the movies is none other than **_**Anythin****g You Can Do (I Can Do Better)**_** from the musical **_**Annie Get Your Gun**_**. It was also featured in a very cute GAP ad a few years back. You can watch it here:**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com / watch ?v=pmKacuH_xOU**

**RIP Barry White, Ethel Merman, and Robert Goulet. :o)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Giant thank you's to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Makes me so happy to read each one. ::mwah::**

**Even more gigantic thanks to my beta, Nina, aka WriteOnTime. She's the mac to my cheese.**

**I couldn't keep you guys in suspense, and frankly, this chapter makes me so nervous, I just wanted to get it over with.

* * *

**

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

I blink rapidly about a thousand times as I feel my throat close up and my heart pound.

"You have a twitter account?" I ask nervously, looking at Edward as he stands next to me, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

_Shifting. Shifty. Why do I feel like I'm watching old footage from the Nixon/Kennedy debates from the 60s?_

"Um, yeah. I, uh, you know, like to keep up with whatever the cool kids do," he jokes nervously. I recognize that 'naughty little boy' look on his face and that's all the confirmation I need, really.

"You've read my tweets, haven't you?" I accuse, my embarrassment slowly turning to annoyance.

All of a sudden all four of my friends have someplace they need to be, and right this very second. Rose reminds me to call her if I need anything, sensing that a fight might be brewing between Edward and me.

"I meant to bring it up, in fact I was going to tonight," he stammers, holding his hand out, palm up.

The crowd milling around us doesn't make this the best place for a serious conversation, so we walk quickly to the Volvo to go home and talk in peace.

I'm quiet in the car on the way back to the brownstone, keeping my head turned away from Edward and staring out the passenger side window. I'm too mortified to say anything; instead, I just let my head fill with questions. I dread the answers—they'll embarrass me, maybe even anger me.

I hear Edward sigh loudly a few times, his exasperation coming across very clearly. I know he didn't bargain on having a fight with a girlfriend who isn't. This was supposed to be about convenience and lack of complications. Instead, it's all mixed signals and discovering emotions found only in situations that, for me, are completely unchartered waters.

If I was his girlfriend, I'd have a right to feel indignant, deceived. No, I'm a _best friend_. I don't even know what the hell to make of that—to make of any of his taciturn ways. Sometimes I feel like a beggar on the street, taking whatever 'pennies' or small morsels of his heart that he can spare me. But every small piece has a ridiculous effect on me—stuns the sense out of me, makes me think of nothing but how much I want just one more tiny bit of him.

I clamber up the stairs, resigning myself to our usual routine where I try to slink back into my apartment but he pulls me up the next flight of steps to his front door instead. The non-confrontational person in me can't help who she is.

We sit in awkward silence on his leather couch where I keep willing myself to disappear, but nothing happens.

"Bella, I'm sorry," he offers.

"Did you read the things I tweeted about you?" I ask. Edward's lips form a tight, straight line as he nods his head.

"Um, all of them?" I probe. He nods his head again.

"So, what, you just came across my account and scrolled through all of them?" I wonder out loud, almost afraid of the answer.

"Not exactly," he says, swallowing so hard, I can actually hear him gulping. "I joined a little while ago and found you there…um…then."

"'Then?' When is 'then,' Edward?" I persist, even though my voice is soft, unassuming.

"Wow, you're really good at asking questions. Makes sense your dad was a detective," he replies with a nervous laugh.

When I don't respond and just tilt my head and raise an eyebrow at him, he gets the point and keeps talking.

"Jasper found me on Twitter around the time you moved in. When I looked at his tweets, there was one from you. The name made me laugh, so I clicked on it and saw that it was you."

"You've been reading my tweets for two months without me knowing," I say as statement, almost to myself. I cross my arms and stare blankly ahead.

I lift my head and look at Edward for a moment to try to sort myself out a little. On the one hand, I'm completely mortified. I had no idea Edward would know someone I was friends with—what are the odds? On the other hand, I'm completely furious. I feel like he found my diary, albeit left out carelessly, but instead of doing the decent thing and slamming it shut, he read it. And then didn't tell me. He just kept reading each new entry.

My brain is too scattered to know how to react, so I let my anger and bruised ego take over.

"Did you get a good laugh out of it?" I murmur, feeling my face tighten up.

"What?" he asks with disbelief. "Of course not…it wasn't like that at all," he adds, looking nervous.

"You mean to tell me," I begin, "that you read the things I said about you for no reason whatsoever?" I ask, my disbelief now matching his.

"No, I didn't say that. I did have a reason," he replies, too sheepish to say more.

"What reason would that be?"

"I wanted to know what you were thinking."

"Why didn't you just ask me?"

"Bella, I couldn't. I didn't think you'd tell me. Can I be truly honest?"

"Yes, please."

"I thought you hated me. I mean, we had that fight outside the night that Jake idiot walked you home…and I really believed you just loathed me. But your tweets—you only said nice things about me. You blamed yourself for that fight when I was to blame too. And then I kissed you when I shouldn't have and made you feel awkward and confused. Even so, somehow you still found it in you to keep a good impression of me," he explains. His voice is soft and sincere. It inspires me, against my better judgment, to make my own confession.

"I was infatuated with you," I whisper. "A crush."

"Inexplicably. I hadn't noticed or cared about anything of the sort since high school. But I really liked reading you say those things."

"Edward, those were my private thoughts. I know I had them out in the open but I had no idea you and I had a common friend. You can't just listen to what's going on in someone's head. It's wrong," I counter, hurt that this just didn't occur to him.

"I know. I know it is. I am really sorry. And I swear, it was never to laugh or get some kind of weird kick out of how embarrassed you'd be. I swear."

"Then what did you think of what I said?"

"I thought…I didn't understand why you'd be interested in me…you didn't like it when I was really flirtatious, you'd get irritated. Bella, I couldn't figure out…what you saw in me."

"I saw a lot more than a good-looking guy with a bunch of pick up lines."

"Thank you, Bella."

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Calling me Bella?"

"I don't know. I guess you don't seem like you're in the mood for nicknames."

"But that's not just any nickname. It's the one you call me. No one else does."

"I'm sorry, brown eyes. About the whole thing."

"I know you are. I still don't understand something."

"What?"

"Why did _my_ impression of you matter so much? What did it matter what I was thinking?"

"I think…I don't know. You just seemed different. You were a nice person, smart, pretty. You didn't want anything to do with me, yet you were still decent, friendly. The more I got to know you, the more it mattered what you thought of me. I wanted you to like me," he says, looking down like a shy little boy, all awkward and unsure of himself. Edward never looks like this.

I start chuckling like crazy. I just can't believe this. This can't be possible. It just can't be.

"Edward?"

"Yeah? What's so funny?"

"I need to ask you something—completely serious question. Have you ever had a crush on someone before?"

He ponders for a moment, pursing his lips, his eyes roaming the room.

"You know, I don't think I have. If I saw a woman I thought was attractive, I'd just talk to her. And you know, things would just move forward from there," he says.

"Move forward?" I ask with a laugh while I shake my head. "Sounds like a business deal."

'_An arrangement,_' I think to myself sadly. Is that all this is?

It can't be. If this was nothing but an exchange of favors to him, why am I sitting here in his apartment? Why did he read my tweets, fight me off to sleep with him, always put my needs before his? Why did he do all of the countless things that most people only do when they care for someone?

Maybe he and I are 'moving forward,' but through this incredibly stupid 'understanding' and toward something else—something meaningful, important. But in the meantime, we're fumbling around, not knowing how we feel or why we feel it.

I close my eyes because I just can't even process anything anymore. I'm just past the edge of logical and now in the land of overwrought emotion. Edward isn't looking at me at first, so when he sees a tear escape down my cheek, I hear him groan and put his arm around me.

"Bella, please. I can't bear to see you cry. I hate it."

"Stop calling me that."

"Sorry, brown eyes. Don't cry, please. I'm _so _sorry," he whispers, pulling me to him and leaning my head on his shoulder. He kisses my forehead and my wet eyes.

And I know he means it. He _is_ sorry. Edward is sorry for hurting me. That's a reaction only someone who is deeply invested in another person would have.

After all that's happened before, and now tonight, I think I'm starting to get it…there are things about Edward that I'm not sure what to do with. He doesn't recognize the basic emotions that most people learn to interpret and deal with when they're much younger.

He doesn't even realize he had a crush on me.

He can't understand why not being around me makes him irritable because it doesn't occur to him that he simply misses me.

He thinks because I make him eggs and play with his hand and eat Chinese food while sitting on his lap that we must be best friends.

He doesn't get that my trusting him with a 'quick fuck' and then his telling me it was a mistake is a big deal.

He doesn't get that secretly reading my tweets is a breach of my trust and also a big deal.

And there it is, like a light bulb over my head.

_Edward doesn't know what it's like to love somebody._

And there goes light bulb number two.

_The idea of that makes me hurt for him. It makes me sad that he doesn't know what he's feeling. It's like part of him has basically just atrophied—weakened to the point that he can hardly sense it anymore._

And where there should be a third light bulb, there's a bolt of lightning. That can't be good because storms scare the shit out of me.

_Why do I hurt for him? Because…I love him. I'm not 'in love' with him. I love him—every part of him. The parts that don't work only matter because they need fixing, not because they make him any less worthy._

I put my hand over my eyes, trying to literally hold everything in. One of us has to be sane or at least calm, level-headed. I don't want to freak him out again like that first time we were together. There has to be a way for us to 'move forward' because I'm just…too infested with TNGUS fungus?

I take a deep breath and let myself melt into Edward's body—the body I was drawn to staring at the first time I saw him. Since then it's become so familiar to me. I know every ripple of muscle, every line and curve, how and where to touch; I know its scent; the sound of its heartbeart and breathing tells me if he's sleeping, aroused, happy. I know all of these things, but his heart and his soul are still a mystery to me.

But I am determined, even if it's only little by little and one tiny fraction at a time, to unlock what's inside.

"Please tell me how to fix you, brown eyes," he says so earnestly and sweetly. I've been so lost in my own thoughts that I haven't been saying anything and now he seems worried.

"I'll be okay, Edward. I'm just…trying to sort things out in my head. I'm not angry, just a little sad."

"But I made you sad. I want to undo it, or at least try."

"You can't really undo this. But we can try to make it better."

"We can? You mean, you will try with me?"

"Sure, I can't leave you in charge. Can't just have you running amok and pulling all kinds of stunts," I joke with a small smile and a sniffle. This is more comfortable than fighting. This is a way of talking that we both understand.

Edward chuckles as he leans toward the coffee table, still hanging on to me, and grabs some tissues. I thank him before wiping my eyes and blowing my nose.

"We have to be able to trust each other," I tell him, resting my head in the crook of his neck and patting his chest.

"I know. It was wrong not to tell you about twitter. I would never want you to not trust me."

"I do still trust you…because you've only ever been respectful and sweet about everything we've done together. That means more than the one small thing you did to goof up," I explain.

"Thank you…for understanding…and not being angry," he replies, running his fingers through my hair and stroking my scalp.

"Do you trust me, Edward?" I ask, trying not to sound so anxious to ask this question, but the answer means everything right now.

"Yes. I think I trust you more than I have anyone else in a long time," he says softly. My head is still on his shoulder, so I'm not looking at his face. It makes it easier for me to get out what I want to say.

"Who was the last person you trusted?" I think I know the answer to this question, and when I feel him tense up slightly, I'm sure of it.

"Um. My mom," he says simply.

"Can you tell me?" I venture.

I don't seem to be able to ask more pointedly than that. I really want to ask what happened, how she died, but I don't want to force him to think about things he just told me earlier today that he'd sooner forget. So I'll settle for him telling me anything.

"She, uh…she died," he answers almost mechanically. He already told me this, but if it's all he wants to say, I will leave it at that.

We're quiet for a few minutes, neither of us knowing what the other person wants to hear. But then Edward surprises me and starts talking.

"My mom…was an alcoholic. She died of alcoholism," he says flatly. "Liver failure."

"I'm sorry, Edward. Truly. So sorry," I tell him. I wrap my arms around him and hug him to me like my life depended on it because I want that hug to tell him that losing a parent is shitty and I understand that firsthand.

"Thanks, brown eyes," he whispers, kissing my hair. "She was, I guess, what they call a 'functional alcoholic.' I grew up seeing her get drunk every night but she'd never act out, never drive drunk or even drink during the day. Never once did she get aggressive. I had a very weird perception of it as a kid. I thought everyone's mom came home, drank a two or three entire bottles of vodka and then cried themselves to sleep."

I bite my lip to hold in the gasp that threatened to fly out of me. My heart just aches at the thought of what he must have gone through, but I can't react and risk making it worse for him. I just keep patting his chest as he speaks.

"I'd sometimes ask why she was crying, but she'd never say exactly. I'd usually get something like 'it's nothing, I'd be crying more if I didn't have you.' I never understood what that meant but I never asked. I wish I had," he reveals.

"I know you do," I tell him simply. There are so many things I wish I'd have said or asked my dad before he died, so I know that feeling really well.

"Thanks for listening," he says, kissing my forehead.

"You're welcome. Thanks…for trusting me," I reply. I look up at his face then, his bloodshot green eyes killing me a little inside. I kiss his lips softly, hoping it takes some of his hurt away.

We look at each other for a minute, smiling slightly at one another. I'm almost waiting for things to turn awkward, but they don't. He puts his hands on either side of my face and kisses me back. His soft, slow-moving lips on mine tell me how sad he is.

"It's okay if you're sad. I know what it's like. It goes away, especially if you aren't alone," I tell him.

"Thanks. I'll be okay," he reassures me.

I straddle his lap so I can properly stroke his cheek and rub his whiskers with my fingertips.

"Will you do me a favor?" he asks.

"Of course."

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

"I was already planning on it," I say with a little laugh. "I think I like your bed better than mine. It is bigger after all."

"You like my bed, huh?"

"Yeah. Sometimes even with you in it."

"Sometimes?"

"Okay, maybe more than just 'sometimes.' Maybe all the time. But don't let it go to your head."

I roll my eyes when he smirks and raises his eyebrow at me.

Cupping my backside with his hands, he manages to stand up with my arms and legs wrapped around him. He carries me all the way to his bedroom, kissing me the entire way. We sit up on the bed, kissing and touching each other softly, gently. When we take each other's shirts off, I get the urge to ask him something.

"Will you do _me_ a favor?" I ask.

"Of course."

"Remember when we were here on my birthday and I was nervous?"

"Sure I do," he replies as he kisses my neck.

"And you said that I didn't have to talk, that I could show you what I wanted?"

"Mmhmm," he answers, nibbling on my earlobe.

"Can we do that again? Not talk—just show each other?"

He stops his nibbling and looks at me. His face looking confused at first, but then it seems to dawn on him what it is I'm asking.

_Let's show each other how we feel. We don't have to say it yet._

I smile at him nervously because I'm not sure how he'll react. But I breathe a sigh of relief when he smiles back. I reach for his hand and kiss it, first the back, then the front. Pressing his palm to my cheek, I smile as wide as I can. Not able to resist, I play with his hand a little more as he watches me. I kiss each finger, then the knuckles. He takes my hand and copies me, kissing my hand the same way—first the back, then my palm. I let my thumb flit across his bottom lip when he puts my hand on his cheek, then giggle when he pretends to gnaw on my fingers instead of kiss them.

Kneeling on the floor in front of him, I slowly undress him from the waist down, stroking his legs and kissing his knees. He grabs my arms and pulls me back onto the bed so that we can switch places, and he can once again copy me. Gingerly taking off my bra, he kisses my arms as he slips the straps off. His hands graze against my breasts—his touch is light, almost tentative. He peels off my jeans and panties, caressing my legs as he goes.

We sit together, both naked—bare.

My hands go to his neck and shoulders, where I massage his muscles gently to ease away the tension of the last few hours. I want to take that stress, worry, and agitation away from him. Soon he does the same for me—his long elegant fingers nimbly relaxing me, making me feel peaceful and calm.

I hold his face in my hands and kiss him with everything that I have—giving him happy sighs and soft moans. He does the same. My hands move to his temples and his forehead, my thumbs ironing out the creases and lines. My lips kiss away the evidence of his frowns and grimaces.

Again, he mimics me—first with a light kiss to my forehead, and then all over my face, where he stops and kisses either side of my mouth repeatedly, only stopping when I smile. He grins at his success, then laughs when I wrinkle my nose at him.

We kiss and stroke our way around each other's bodies for a while, always in the same way—first me, then Edward. Gradually my hand wraps around him, softly moving up and down. His hand then quickly finds where I love to have it the most.

When I motion for him to lie on his back, I take him in my mouth because I know he loves it and making him feel that good makes me feel good too. I look up at him, watching him bite his lip and clench his jaw but never taking his eyes off mine. He strokes my cheek to show his gratitude, then tangles his fingers in my hair to show his enthusiasm.

I'm surprised when he sits up and pulls my waist toward him but then I understand that he wants to reciprocate—my mouth on him while his mouth is on me. We've never done this before so it's new to me. Edward consistently manages to show me something I've never done. It's always intensely erotic and pleasurable beyond my imagination. This is no exception. Feeling his tongue and lips on me while mine are on him is incredible.

Soon I can feel everything building up and getting ready to overflow, but I stop before it happens. I want Edward inside me. I need him there. We need to be bonded, connected in that way.

When I lie down next to him on my back, he immediately rolls on top of me, understanding what we need to do next. I put my legs on either side of him, giving him room to lie between them. My impatient hands urge him on, pressing into his ass. He groans as he pushes into me. My neck goes slack and my head falls to the side when I feel him inside me completely—filling my body but also everywhere else, because something was missing everywhere. My body didn't have a lover. My mind didn't have an equal. My heart didn't have a companion to beat along with it.

But now I have all those things, and I will keep them for as long as it takes him to understand that he has those things too.

Edward takes my legs by the shins and leans them upward, bent and at either side of my arms. He smiles at me before lowering his head to watch himself thrust in and out of me. I watch too, amazed at how I ever thought I was just 'having sex' with Edward. Because that's never what it was.

When I put my hand between my legs, Edward hisses his encouragement, always wanting me to enjoy what we do together. Watching us move together is really exciting and seeing my hand there adds to it. But when I look up at Edward's face and see that look—he just looks so turned on, turned on because of me, that's when I cum so hard, I scream.

I put my hand on his chest, just like I had before. What he has there is mine. It may need mending but I don't give a shit if it's ten million pieces, I will fit them all back together with him—one kiss, one hug, one touch at a time. Starting now, I move my hand off briefly, but only to kiss my fingers and plant it back on his heart.

He looks at me, then gently puts my legs down so I can wrap them around his waist. Kissing my lips sweetly, his mouth moves down my neck and down to my chest, where he kisses me lightly above my left breast. I smile at him and he smiles back.

I take his face in my hands again and press his forehead to mine. I nod my head gently when I feel his hips move faster and his breathing get heavier. His beautiful face tenses up and his mouth goes slightly slack. I love to watch him cum, just like he loves to watch me. His face looks so intense and then it suddenly goes peaceful and relaxed. He grunts softly and his body goes still. Kissing and rubbing his cheek, I feel a kind of contentment and gratification I never have before. It's like we swapped pieces of ourselves, pieces you can't see but you know they're there, and you can never trade them back.

We're quiet for a few minutes, just lying there holding each other.

"Brown eyes?" he whispers, his hand rubbing my back.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"That was the first time I've ever done that," he admits.

"Me too, obviously," I confess back.

"I don't mean the 69," he clarifies.

"Neither do I."

And with that, I shift over so he can smother me and grope my boob—I'm just resigned to it, really. Well, I can't exactly deny it now. I like making him feel comforted and cared about. It's what he deserves. He deserves to know what it's like to feel loved, and to know what it's like to love somebody.

I can teach him, just like he's teaching me.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN! I wonder what they **_**were**_** talking about, hmmmm?**

**Tune in next time.**

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	17. Chapter 17

**Hey, hey, hey! It's TNNNNGUS! You guys remember Fat Albert, right? If not, that joke just sucked.**

**This little story is almost at 5k reviews and you guys are so awesome for giving me all this wonderful support and feedback. I love you all, hard-like.**

**A huge bucket of 'thank you' to my beta and bestie, Nina, aka WriteOnTime, who's all sick with a cold but nonetheless Miss Johnny On The Spot with her edits and comments. This story wouldn't be one iota as good as it without her input and she really needs to accept that already. And she needs to legally adopt me so I can move in and she can make me all the homemade Nutella I can possibly stand. Just sayin'.**

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**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

I hear my cell phone chime as it sits on the floor next to Edward's bed. I manage to free my arm from the clutches of the smoosher to reach down and grab the source of the chiming.

**How's TNGUS? U didn't kill him, did u? -A**

I chuckle to myself when I read the text message that Alice just sent me. I quickly text her back.

**It's all good. He's still breathing. Altho I think I tired him out. ;o) --B**

It takes Alice about ten seconds to reply.

**I like this new slutty version of u. Ur proof that a little dick can go a long way. -A**

I can't stop myself and just have to say something back.

**There's nothing 'little' going on in his boxers. Trust. I'm ruined for other guys. -B**

Laughing a little too loudly, I quickly turn my phone off and put it down on the nightstand. Edward stirs a little, his sleepy face turned toward me. His hair is every which way, and his expression is fixed in a pout that I admit makes me want to kiss him everywhere.

"Good morning," I whisper, kissing his forehead gently.

"Mmmph," he grumbles.

"Still sleepy, huh?" I tease, rubbing my hands up and down his back. He just groans at me. "Do you want some breakfast?" I ask, hoping his stomach can will his eyes to open.

"There's something tasty right here," he says with a gravelly voice as he slips his hand between my legs even though his eyes are still closed.

"Hey, no funny stuff," I scold lightly. "And how do you do that with your eyes closed? Do you have some kind of pussy GPS or something?"

"Mona calls out to me like a siren, brown eyes."

"Edward, you're just plain ridiculous."

"But it's morning and you're here next to me, all warm and sweet-smelling and beautiful. Can you blame me?"

"I hate you," I whine with a pout.

"What did I say?" he asks, laughing at my silly pouting and phony declarations of loathing.

"Who can fight you off when you talk like that?"

"I think that was the whole point—to get you to not fight me off."

"Right. Not fight you off. Get you off."

"Precisely. I love how smart you are, brown eyes."

"Don't tell me—it's a turn on."

"See how attuned we are to each other?"

"It's like you can read my mind, Edward," I deadpan.

"Hey, that's not funny. I apologized profusely for reading your tweets."

"I know, but I reserve the right to joke about it."

"Speaking of which, I meant to ask. What's a 'ting-gis' anyway?" he asks, screwing up his face as he tries to pronounce the nickname I gave him.

I feel my face turn red. All the embarrassing things I've said about him come flooding through my mind again. I try to skirt around it as best I can.

"It's, uh, a nickname," I mumble as I try to duck my head under the comforter.

"Well, I figured as much," he says with a smile, propping himself up on his elbow as he lies beside me. He flicks the comforter back with a single long finger. "What's it stand for?" he persists.

"It stands for…um…_thenakedguyupstairs_," I confess with a flourish, pushing all the words out at once. I shut my eyes tightly and bite my lip when Edward laughs loudly.

"You walk through your own apartment undressed just once and you can never live it down," he laments playfully.

"Yeah well…it made an impression," I say with a laugh.

"Good or bad?"

"Horrible. Awful. Disgusting. I threw up in my mouth a little."

"You're a terrible liar, brown eyes."

"I know," I reply, laughing even harder. He puts his arms around me and I can't resist when he starts kissing me all over—my face, my neck, my shoulders.

"Hey," I say, trying to keep my mind off the fact that he's rubbing me everywhere and nibbling on all the best spots. "Listen…Edward…come on, I'm trying to talk."

"Mmm? I'm listening," he says as he starts fondling my chest.

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" I ask.

"Working. Well, that's what I usually do. People are all too eager to let me cover their shifts. Why?"

"Oh. I was just wondering…if you wanted to have Thanksgiving dinner with me and my mom."

"You're not going home?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Not this year," I say softly. "It's, um, just too much for my mom and me to be at our house, just the two of us. I asked her to come here instead." Edward nods and kisses my cheek, understanding why the holidays won't be the same without my dad with us.

"I'd love to. Thanks for inviting me."

"Well, I couldn't cook all that food and not offer you some. I'm just being polite," I tease.

"You don't want me to stuff your bird?"

"You do enough stuffing, young man," I say, wagging my finger at him and scrunching one eye shut.

"God, I love stuffing you. That's the stuff—stuffing you and tenderizing your giblets."

"Edward," I gasp, letting myself dissolve into giggles. I really don't know what to do with him. Everything is rife with sexual innuendo with him. And I kind of adore it.

"Baste you with my juices?" he says with a snort as he buries his face into my cleavage.

"Enough," I scold, trying to get out of the bed.

"One kiss, please," he asks so sweetly, making that same pouty face he did in his sleep.

_Pure kryptonite to my self-control, you are._

"Okay, just one."

One kiss lasts twenty minutes and we make love for an hour after that.

I meet up with Rose and Alice for coffee the next afternoon at our usual Starbucks.

"So last time we saw you, I thought you were gonna either burst into tears or slug Edward in the jaw. I couldn't tell which," Rose informs me with a smirk.

"Both," I confess simply.

"What the hell triggered all that? I figured you guys would've seen each other on twitter or at least would've talked about knowing Jasper," Alice says. "I'm sorry I started drama between you guys," she adds, looking sheepish.

"Don't worry about it. Edward should've told me a while ago that he saw me on twitter. He's just…I couldn't really get mad at him for it. But God, I was _really_ embarrassed," I explain.

"I bet!" Rose exclaims. "You were just tweeting away all this crazy shit about him."

"Ugh, don't remind me," I moan, covering my face. "Drunk tweeting is idiotic, but it's even more idiotic when you don't protect your tweets."

"How'd you explain it?" Alice asks.

"I told him the truth. I had a crush on him," I admit.

"Wait. You _had_ a crush on him?" Rose clarifies.

"Yes. Past tense. I told you guys how I feel about him now."

"Did you tell _him_ how you feel now?" Alice asks.

"No, not in words. It was intense—the conversation we had. He admitted to reading my tweets because he wanted to know what I really thought of him. Basically, he had a crush on me too."

"Wait. He _had_ a crush on you?" Rose clarifies again.

"You're a regular parrot, Rose," I tease.

"Shut up and answer the question," she demands.

"Well…I just added it all up in my head, you know? How he's been changing… know, how he treats me and acts around me. He's always been sweet—a gentleman. But it's different now. He gets…I don't know. You guys will think I'm nuts…"

"Um, _no_. Just say it, Prunella," Alice urges.

"Fine," I say with a sigh. "He gets weird about stuff. I can tell he gets jealous when other guys come up in conversation. He wants to meet anyone who asks me out."

"Damn," Rose says, blinking a few times.

"There's more, isn't there?" Alice guesses, sniffing me out better than anyone else can.

"Yeah," I admit with a blush. "He, uh, gets antsy when we don't talk or see each other for a few days."

"Antsy, how?"

"He just wants to hug me and be sweet, but he's also crazy horny," I say with a laugh.

"You guys don't see other people, right?"

"No, he says he doesn't want to be with his usual hook-ups anymore."

"Shiiiiit," Rose exclaims. "Dude has it bad for you, Prunella. Clearly your Ironsnatch has snapped shut and trapped his nads," she snorts. She and Alice crack up at that.

"_Ha ha_. Yes. Crudely put, but true. I think he's just as into me as I am into him," I reply, sniffing indignantly at their stupid teasing.

"Why don't you just tell each other?" Alice asks.

"Because they're freaks and fucked in the head," Rose explains nonchalantly and with a flip of her platinum hair.

"If you must know…Edward has issues," I reveal with a shrug.

They both just look at me. The need to verbally demand an explanation is unnecessary because it's written all over their faces.

"He's had a bad childhood. A really rough one, actually. I think that's why he's never dated seriously. Keeps people at arm's length because he can't deal with emotional attachments," I explain.

"I can understand that," Alice muses. "Just be careful. Don't get hurt yourself, okay?" she asks earnestly.

"Yeah, some easy lay this turned out to be. Only you would screw up a booty call this badly," Rose laments.

"Thanks Rose," I reply sarcastically. "And I'm trying my best," I tell Alice. "That's why I didn't tell him exactly how I felt. I didn't want to freak him out again. I'll wait 'til he's ready to tell me first," I explain softly.

"Sigh. I do love a good love story. But I love a good dirty screw better," Alice says wistfully.

"Screw the love. Pass me the screw," Rose says, scrunching up her face.

"You guys! Come on now. You're both full of shit. I saw you with Emmett and Jazz, all _googly-eyed_ and _stupid_," I accuse, making a funny face at them with my eyes wide and my lips puckered.

"I can't help it. Jazz is so adorable and sweet. The other day he called and said I sounded sad. I was just stressed cos of this paper I'm writing. Twenty minutes later he shows up with flowers and a DVD," Alice tells me, practically bursting with lovesickness. It's kinda nauseating.

"Emmett's just as bad. We were IMing each other about cars and he told me he was never so turned on by carburetors before. He gave me a vintage Matchbox car. So sweet," Rose gushes.

_Now I really am gonna be sick_.

"Oh. My. God. The hoors are no longer hoorish. Never thought I'd see the day," I sigh, shaking my head.

"Yeah, yeah. We're all up shit's creek. But at least we're all getting laid," Rose declares as the three of us giggle like stupid high school teens.

I'm getting dinner started that Tuesday evening. I'm covered in flour, dough and shredded cheese from making homemade pizza just as there's a knock at the door.

"Come in, it's open," I call from the kitchen.

A very familiar pair of arms wrap around me from behind as I work the dough with my hands. I sigh when I feel lips, cool from the November air, touch my neck.

"You're cold," I tell Edward.

"You'll warm me up in a minute. Watching you…bounce…like that ought to help," he purrs in my ear.

"You're early, too."

"Should I leave and come back?"

"Eh, I guess since you're already here, you might as well stay."

"I haven't seen you in three days. I cut out of the hospital as fast as I could."

"Three days? Has it been that long? I didn't notice," I tease.

"Brown eyes, you love to torment me, don't you?"

"I can't help it if I didn't miss you."

"You didn't?" he asks, sounding genuinely bummed as he rests his chin on my shoulder.

"Nope. Not one bit. Forgot all about you, to be honest," I say with a shrug.

"How come?"

"Oh you know. Same old stuff. My non-existent boyfriend loves to hog my time."

"I'll kill that douche bag."

"Calm down. He's harmless."

"You really didn't miss me?"

"Of course I did, silly. Anytime you're not around, there's a distinct feeling I get. I can't really describe it. It's actually a sort of void…a lack of something…can't quite put my finger on it."

"A lack of my charm? My extraordinary bedroom prowess? My generously endowed…"

"No!" I say, interrupting him. "It's more like a lack of…_pain in my ass_."

"Jesus, you're mean when you haven't had sex. I can fix that for you, you know."

"I bet you can. So selfless of you to offer."

Putting the pizza in the oven, I turn and give him a floury hug without letting my hands touch him because they're covered in dough.

"Mmm," he hums, squeezing the life out of me.

"How'd your shift go?" I ask, edging my way to the faucet. He's still hugging me while I wash my hands. He's a little ridiculous, but I love it.

"It was long but not too bad. Hey, did you call that social worker about volunteering?"

"Yep," I reply, nodding my head. "She was really nice and basically told me that I could make my own schedule—whatever hours I could put in. I'd have to do some training first, but then I'd be all set," I explain with a smile.

"That's fantastic. And you know," he begins, running his palm down the length of my neck, sending goose bumps all over me. "Maybe you and I could take a quick break here and there while we're both at the hospital."

"Hmmm. Maybe," I whisper, smiling coyly. "Maybe then I won't…"

…_miss you._

I almost say it.

"Won't what?" he asks.

"You know, have to call my imaginary boyfriend," I joke. But my joke falls flat. He doesn't laugh or even smile. "Edward, I was only kidding around," I explain awkwardly. I know what's coming and I can't really bear to hear it again.

"No, I know you were. I, uh, just can't help but think…"

"What? Come on, just say it," I urge, his reluctance to just spit out what he's thinking almost torturing me.

"Maybe I'm denying you…something better."

"Please. Don't," I say, feeling dread welling up in the pit of my stomach. "Edward…I don't think you have any idea."

"Any idea about what? You're the one mentioning a boyfriend all the time. I know you're teasing, but maybe there's something to it? Something you're trying to tell me?"

I stare at the cheap linoleum under my feet, too upset to look at him.

"Edward, I was going to say…about seeing you in the hospital…I was going to say 'maybe I won't…miss you,'" I confess softly. "Because I do. So stop saying you're denying me. The only thing you deny me…is _you_," I add, my voice a raspy whisper. I'm too worked up to talk any louder or more coherently.

He tries to lift my chin up with his hand to get me to look at him, but I twist my head away. Fat, angry tears are coming and it makes me look foolish and like a little kid to get so upset. I should have just left the room like the last time he said something that bothered me.

"I'm sorry," he offers. "I always say the wrong thing. I don't mean it to upset you…I'm trying to do what's best."

"Clearly you're 'best' and my 'best' are two entirely different things," I say, wiping my eyes with a paper towel.

"You deserve better. That's just the simple truth. I'm being selfish doing what I am," he informs me, completely believing his own bullshit.

"Yes, Edward. It's very selfish of you to make me happy…to spend time with me…make me feel wanted and special. Maybe you're just pretending. Is my cooking really _that_ good?" I ask sarcastically.

"Why are you being like this?" he demands. "I told you, over and over, that you shouldn't expect anything from me."

"I expected nothing!" I snap, my temper getting the better of me. "If you want to twist this around and spout bullshit, fine. But don't you ever tell me what I deserve. You have no right! It galls me when you say shit like that. You know why?" I ask, pointing my finger at him, poking his chest.

"Because you don't want me telling you what to do. Because I'm not your boyfriend," he barks, grabbing my wrist and holding it tightly in his hand.

"No. That's not it. Because every time you say I 'deserve better,' it makes me…makes me so…_sad_," I explain, my throat nearly closing up. "Makes me sad for us both. You have no right…to ruin what makes me happy…ruin Tuesday night dinner, and naps, and eggs, and crossword puzzles. Don't you dare take away what makes me happy," I warn in a completely ineffectual tone of voice. I'm pleading, not making demands. He must know it too, but I can't bring myself to care.

I feel Edward's grip on my wrist loosen as I shake my head and try to turn to leave the room, desperate to hide—hide my desperation.

"Please let me go," I say.

"No," he replies simply, pulling my wrist towards him.

"Why do you hang on when I want you to let go, but let go when I want you to hang on?"

"I'm sorry, brown eyes. I don't know why. But I've said it before. I do know what I am."

"I know what you are too. And I don't think nearly as little of him as you seem to."

"And I'll never for the life of me understand that."

"You don't have to understand it. Just accept it."

"Okay. I'll try."

I almost stop dead in my tracks. I'm tempted to ask him to repeat what he just said because I think I may have imagined it.

"Okay?" I say back, looking up at him, my mouth hanging open.

"I've seen the way you get so adamant about things. I, uh, figure it's pointless to try and change your mind. It's never worked before," he explains with a nervous laugh as he runs his hand through his hair. I smile at his sudden awkward shyness. It's rare and completely, utterly, endearing.

"That's right. Don't mess with me. I'd hate to have to…you know, rough you up…get all up in your grill, or whatever," I say, laughing at how ridiculously lame I sound.

"You are by far the least intimidating bully I have ever dealt with," he replies, laughing back at me. I make a fist at him but he covers it with his hand and smirks at me.

"Well, bully for you, Edward."

"No—brown eyes for me…preferably upstairs in my bedroom," he says, kissing the inside of my wrist. I pull away just long enough to get the pizza out of the oven.

"You know, this _does_ look like it needs to cool off," I tell him, raising my eyebrow.

"Have any ideas how we could pass the time?" he asks, tilting his head toward me.

"Oh I dunno. A few things…uh…come to mind."

"Hmm. Interesting choice of words. I'm a bad influence on you."

"Yes. Yes, you are."

"These things in your mind—the ones that are…coming?"

"What about them?"

"Do they involve clothing?"

"I hope not."

"How cold can you eat your pizza?"

"Dude, I have a microwave."

I squeal like crazy when Edward practically drags me up the stairs, telling me how much he loves my problem-solving skills.

Noticing Edward stretch and tilt his head from side to side as we head into his bedroom, I offer to give him a shoulder massage. He sits on the edge of the bed while I kneel behind him, slowly working his tense muscles with my fingers. I lift the hem of his scrub shirt, pulling it up and over his head, so that I can touch more of him.

My hands move up and down his back, kneading gently as I go along. Edward groans and hums in satisfaction, so I must be doing a good job. I kiss the three moles on his neck—there's two small ones on the left and one larger one on the right, all right at the edge of his hairline. I've kissed them, stared at them, even licked them, more than a few times before.

I need to feel closer to him, so I pull off my own shirt and sit directly behind him, my legs on either side of his. Wrapping my arms around his torso, I press my palms against the tops of his thighs, stroking them softly.

"You can't see me when I'm behind you like this," I whisper. "You can imagine I'm anyone you like, if you want," I add, half-joking, yet half-wondering if he would be tempted. He tenses up and turns his head to the side to look at me.

"I couldn't do that even if I did want to," he chides. "I just couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because…I don't just see you. It's, just, everything. I know you. How you smell. The sounds you make. Even if I can't see you…I can feel you," he confesses, his voice soft.

"I'd know it was you too. I could tell it was you when you walked into my apartment while I was cooking. I know what your kisses feel like," I confess back. "And you hug too hard; that's definitely you," I add with a chuckle.

My hands are starting to wander all over now, up and down his chest and abdomen. I love to feel his chest hair, so my fingers play all over his pec muscles. I tease his nipples lightly with my thumbs and it makes him groan softly.

"How about," he starts, turning towards me and stroking my breast through my bra. "We try another lesson?"

"I'd like nothing more," I purr, kissing his lips softly.

"Since we're talking about senses, it can be very pleasurable to heighten them. You do that by eliminating one or two completely," he explains. "Close your eyes." Taking a deep breath, I do as he asks and let my body go slack.

I feel all the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I feel his warm breath move across my cheek and to my ear. The sensation is so light, almost not there, but with my eyes closed I'd never miss it.

"You're so beautiful, sitting here in your bra, just waiting for me to do as I please," he murmurs. He laughs softly when I gasp.

"Open your eyes," he says. I look at him and smile at his smug expression. "Did you like that?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to try with a blindfold? I can go first if that would make you more comfortable."

"No. I trust you. I'll go first."

He takes out a scarf from his bedside table and I can't help but laugh.

"I don't even want to know, Edward."

"Oh, you'll know all about it by the time I'm done," he says with a smirk.

I lie down against the pillows as Edward gently wraps the scarf over my eyes and ties it closed.

"Are you comfortable?" I hear him ask. I nod my head. "Good. Try to keep your hands like this," he instructs, turning my palms down and putting my arms at my sides. "It's better if you just focus on where I touch you, okay?" I nod my head again.

I feel him undoing the button and zipper of my jeans. I sigh when his hands brush against my legs to peel my pants away from my body. I want to dissolve into the bed when his hands caress and massage my feet one at a time. I start a little when I feel his lips on the outside of my panties, first kissing, then licking the sheer fabric.

"Mmm, more. Please," I moan. I hear him laugh as his nimble fingers ease my panties off, then my bra. When I feel the material lifted away from my chest, I push my breasts out, willing something, anything, to touch them.

"Be patient, brown eyes. Just concentrate on how it all feels," he whispers.

I feel his weight lift from the bed and hear movement.

"Are you undressed?" I ask.

"I am now, yes," he replies, as I feel him sit back down next to me.

"Can I touch you? Please?" I ask.

He takes my hand and lightly places it on his bare chest. I sigh from how happy it makes me just to have my skin against his. I can feel every hair, every ripple of muscle. My finger can even find the small raised bump of a beauty mark right in the center of his torso. It's above this 'treasure trail' and I know it so well, my hand just finds it on its own. When I keep moving lower, he doesn't stop me. I press my hand around him, tracing every outline of every vein and ridge. His skin is supple, velvety, and beautiful.

He takes my wrist and places my hand back where it was, resting at my side. I feel him move closer to the top of the bed.

"Putting my finger on your lips," he tells me before I feel something swipe across my mouth. There's something on it, so I lick my lips to taste it—pre-cum.

"Do you like that?" he asks.

"Yes."

"You know what it is?"

"Yes. It's you. I, uh, taste it whenever I first put you in my mouth."

"You want more?"

"Yes, I want all of it. All of you. In my mouth. Please."

When I feel his soft skin pressed to my lips, I open my mouth with enthusiasm. I can feel, smell, and taste him so much more intensely with my eyes closed—it's amazing. Hearing him moan and sigh just urges me on more and more. I feel his hand in my hair, guiding me, wanting me to go faster, harder. He tries to pull away, but my hand clutches on to his thigh, and I don't let go until he groans and I feel him pulse in my mouth. I swallow everything that comes out.

"I wanted to touch you more, you should have let me," he says.

"Well, I did what I wanted," I respond with a smirk.

I feel Edward's hand try to take off my blindfold, but I push him away lightly.

"No. Not yet," I say.

"What's wrong?" he asks. The confusion in his voice is clear.

I reach for him—literally blindly—until he lies next to me, with his arms around me.

"I…it's…" I stumble, not really knowing how to articulate what I want to say. "Do you see how I trust you? My eyes are closed, but my mind, my body…everything else, it's open to you, Edward. My eyes are closed, but I 'see' it…do you?"

"Yes, I do," he replies.

"Do you trust me, trust that I can 'see' even if you might have a…'blindfold' on?" I ask tentatively.

"Yes," he whispers.

"Sometimes, when I tell you things…things I'm afraid to say…about my feelings, it's like I'm blindfolded," I murmur, too afraid to talk any louder. "Because I can't 'see' what will happen after the words come out. I'm more scared of that than anything we do here, Edward."

I can't hear a sound except for my heart pounding loudly in my chest.

"I don't want to scare you. You're my best friend…I wouldn't do that to you. And…I don't want to ruin what makes you happy," he whispers softly.

My heart instantly calms, and fills up, and flutters a little. I understand 'Edward-speak' and his talk of 'best friends.' I know the difference between what it sounds like and what it actually means.

"I don't know what it would take for me to trust anyone else like this. I don't think I ever will. Please believe me," I confess, my voice tiny.

I feel him reach for my blindfold again, but I don't stop him this time. I'm almost afraid of looking at his face, afraid that I've said too much again.

"I can't go this long without looking at your eyes," he tells me, holding my cheek in his palm and smiling sweetly. "I just can't."

"I missed your eyes, too," I reply, grinning at the sight of those bright green eyes and girly-long eyelashes.

"Brown eyes…I need to tell you something," he says as I curl my body against his, my head on his shoulder.

"Tell me anything," I say back, kissing his chest, right over his heart.

"When I work these long shifts and I can't see you or talk to you…I…um…"

"What?"

"I miss you, too."

I don't say anything back because I'm too busy listening to him say those four words to me over and over in my head until we both fall asleep for our weekly nap.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN! "Feelings…nothing more than feelings…" Sorry, I'm loopy today. And stuck in the 70s, apparently. Google 'Morris Albert' if you need a big ol' hit of SCHMALTZY.**

**WHIPPIN OUT THE PROPS, YO! Big ups to Angie, aka amcas, who helped me find all of Rob's HOLY MOLEYS so that this update was nothing short of 100% scientifically accurate in their description. She made me look at **_**all**_** this RobPr0n. It was…grueling, I tell you. She has an awesome blog that chock full o' the pr0nage. Check it out at:**

**whynotrpattz(dot)com**

**Tune in next time when TNGUS gives Bella a good stuffing. ::mwah::**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello my lovelies and Season's Greetings to you! Thanks for stopping by. And thank you, as usual, for your awesome reviews and support.**

**Thank you to my beta and dear friend, Nina, aka WriteOnTime, for always being there. She's the kind of friend who wouldn't bail you out of jail because she'd be sitting in the drunk tank right next to your busted ass. But she would sweet talk the cops out of pressing charges cos she is just **_**that**_** good. You're the Clarence to my George Bailey and without you, I have not a single one of Zuzu's petals in my pocket. After all, ****no**** (wo)man is a failure who has ****friends****. ((HUGS))**

* * *

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

My mouth starts watering the second I enter the foyer of the brownstone. It smells amazing in here. I couldn't wait to get back home. I'd been working since early yesterday morning and straight through the night and today so that I could leave in time for dinner with Bella and her mom.

Bella's door opens before I knock on it because I texted her in the car on the way here. She must've been listening for the front door.

"Edward!" she says excitedly. "I couldn't wait," she confesses, her eyes and smile so wide. She's a complete mess—her hands and apron covered in food. She's even got something on the side of her face and the tip of her nose. And I don't think I've ever seen anything prettier.

I wrap my arms around her in a tight hug before I even take my coat off.

"I couldn't wait either," I whisper in her ear.

"Come meet my mom," she says, waving her hand toward kitchen and ushering me beyond the doorway.

"Hi, Edward," says the woman approaching me with her hand outstretched to shake mine.

"Hello, Mrs. Swan. Pleasure you meet you," I reply with a smile as I her take her hand in mine.

"Please, call me Reneé. And it's wonderful to meet you. Bella speaks so highly of you," she tells me.

She looks strikingly like Bella but with lighter-colored eyes. Her expression is just as playful as the one I often see on her daughter's face.

"Highly? Of _me_?" I tease, turning to Bella and pointing at myself.

"No, I was talking about a different neighbor named Edward. He's so much cooler than you," Bella says with a laugh.

"Don't let her get away with that, Edward. She's just like her dad. They love to tease and give people a hard time," Reneé advises with a smile as she puts her arm around Bella.

There's something missing about their likeness to one another and I suss it out immediately—it's the eyebrows. Reneé's don't arch on one side and make that inquisitive, know-it-all face I've seen on Bella so many times before. She does indeed get that part of herself from her father, clearly.

"So, Bella tells me you're a doctor?" Renee says with a warm smile.

"That I am, yes. I'm in my last year of residency. Bella's been kind enough to be my guest at a few of my work-related functions."

"She told me. I have to hand it to you, Edward. Bella hated going to the Phoenix police auxiliary socials with her dad," she replies with a chuckle as Bella rolls her eyes.

"Mom, even you hated those parties," Bella says, wrinkling her nose. "Oh, hey, Edward, would you mind giving me a ride to the grocery store really quick? They close early today."

"Sure, we can go right now if you like," I reply, holding up my keys.

Bella washes her hands and face before we give her mom a quick goodbye. No sooner is her door shut behind us than she grabs me by the collar of my coat and kisses me like her life depended on it.

"Upstairs, upstairs," she whispers. "We need to go upstairs."

"But I thought…" I try to say back, but her hands are all over me, one of them already heading south of my navel. "Whoa, Brown Eyes, no groceries in there," I say with a laugh, as she's simultaneously groping my crotch and pulling me up the stairs.

"Mmm, just…been too long…missed you…" she murmurs, kissing my neck up and down as I try to concentrate on unlocking my front door. "Hands…big hands…soft lips…so nice…" she moans into my ear before softly chewing on my earlobe.

_I think I've created a sex fiend from a bookworm. Holy hell, Cullen, you're better than you even thought._

"But, your mom," I mutter as we literally fall through my door and onto the floor, both of us landing in a tangled heap. She pulls on my coat before taking off her own.

"I can be quiet," she protests, "if you put your hand over my mouth. Like this," she adds, pressing my palm across her mouth, my thumb hooking under her chin.

_Fuuuuuuuck. I don't think. I know. Sex fiend._

"Jesus, Brown Eyes!" I groan as she pulls the drawstring of my scrubs open.

In an act of sheer desperation and uncanny physical dexterity for a girl like Bella, she manages to hook her two big toes around the waistband of my pants and boxers, pushing them both down to my knees.

"Easy, hang on there, Brown Eyes," I say with a laugh as I take her hands in mine just as she's about to violate me in the best possible way.

"What?" she asks, her eyes wide as she gives me a sweetly guilty look, like I'd caught her stealing candy.

"I'm not a machine, you know," I tease, tickling her chin with the tips of my fingers and half-heartedly pulling my scrubs back up.

"Oh."

"Just 'oh'?"

"I guess I should've explained more. I thought you just wouldn't care, because…do guys really need an excuse to have sex?"

"Well, no, I guess not. But what do you mean about explaining more?"

"Just that, I'm in the mood because…" she tries to say, but her voice trails off.

"What is it? You can tell me."

"It's Thanksgiving, right?" she begins, looking a little embarrassed. "So today, while my mom and I were cooking and doing stuff around my apartment, we talked about things being different. You know, because my dad is gone. But we decided that 'different' doesn't have to be sad or less than what it used to be," she explains, smiling lightly.

"No, it doesn't have to be sad," I say in agreement, kissing her cheek.

"Then I thought about you. You and I, we have something different. And it makes me happy."

"It makes me happy, too, Brown Eyes."

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm…thankful for you. And grateful to you," she whispers in my ear and burying her face in my neck.

"I am, too. Both of those things," I whisper back.

"It might be the cranberry liqueur talking though. My mom cracked it open earlier and it's really good," she laughs.

"Must you compliment me only to qualify it before I even have the chance to enjoy what you said?"

"That's how I roll, dawg," she says, flicking some kind of strange hand gesture at me that I can't even understand. I mutter under my breath when she flicks a little too hard and pokes me in the eye.

"Oh my God! I'm sorry," she gushes, hugging me and laughing.

We're still lying on the floor, half undressed. She looks so playfully sweet and beautiful, even if I now have to look at her through my one good eye. Noticing me staring at her, she stares back at me and frowns at my rapid blinking and tearing. She kisses my eyelid repeatedly and sighs.

"I'd never hurt you on purpose," she says with a pout.

"Neither would I."

She kisses me again and my hand snakes its way inside her panties and I could very well weep true tears over how slick and warm she feels between her legs.

"You're beautiful…everywhere," I tell her.

"Edward, please. I want…"

"Tell me," I urge.

"I want you to…I can't," she says, sounding frustrated.

"What? Just say it," I reply, turning her face to mine.

"I can't say 'fuck me,' it doesn't…it's not…"

"I don't want to 'fuck' either," I admit.

All of a sudden, Bella is overcome with laughter. It starts with a small giggle and escalates into a loud, snorty, shuddering guffaw.

"What?" I demand with a smile.

"How about 'like-making,' is that a better way to put it?"

I nod my head and grin.

"I admit, it does have a certain…_eh, I do not know what_," I coo in a fake French accent.

"Zhuh nuh say kwaaaaa," she replies in a nasally voice, crossing her eyes and opening her mouth so wide, I can see her tonsils.

"Brown eyes, I don't know what to do with you when you have that expression on your face."

"Too sexy for ya, beefcake?"

"I almost can't control myself," I say, laughing loudly.

"You better laugh, damn it."

"Well, threatening me makes everything infinitely more hilarious."

"Shut up and laugh."

"I'd rather 'make like' to you, Brown Eyes," I say, doing my best Maurice Chevalier imitation.

"Make it snappy, the store's about to close."

"I love it when you're demanding and brusque."

"Oh yeah, how about I demand some of this, huh?" she taunts, sticking her hand inside my shorts. I groan at her and kiss her deeply, pressing my body into hers. She feels so soft, pliant, and fragile as my hands drift all over her—the small of her back, her shoulders, her round little ass. I lift her shirt over her head and take in the sight of her bare breasts, so pert and ripe. I fix my mouth to one and my hand to the other as she purrs in contentment. Before I know it, she's peeled off her jeans and when she toes my scrubs off a second time, I don't stop her.

"Is this what you needed, Brown Eyes?" I ask as I ease myself inside her, my body between her legs.

"Yes," she murmurs. "Need you."

"I need you too," I reply as I stroke in and out of her. Grabbing my face in her hands, she looks up at me, her wide eyes endearing and soulful.

"You…give me what I need, Edward," she says in an earnest voice.

"God, you're beautiful, so sweet…so _good_," I groan, moving faster and harder.

"You're good to me, always good," she moans, her hips pivoting against mine.

"Yes, let me be good to you, Brown Eyes…" I urge, moving my thumb against her, right above where I'm thrusting into her.

"Edward," she calls out with a gasp as she climaxes. I'm not far behind and let my head fall against her chest with a loud grunt. She strokes my hair as I cum inside her. I kiss her lips once more and struggle to catch my breath.

Trading furtive looks and laughing mischievously, we scramble to get our clothes back on quickly so we can get to the store in time. I quietly lock the door as we tip-toe down the stairs and past Bella's apartment. But we don't get far. Bella's door opens unceremoniously, her mom standing there and eyeing us both. The three of us stare at each other, no words in particular coming to any of us at the moment. Reneé seems to understand what's just happened with perfect clarity. And while she doesn't look angry, she doesn't look especially pleased, either.

"List, Isabella," her mom says sharply, holding a piece of paper out to her daughter. Bella clears her throat, and smoothing down her now wildly unkempt hair, takes the paper from her mother.

"Sorry, um, thanks," Bella mumbles, her face scarlet.

"Isabella?" her mother says again as Bella is frantically trying to continue walking and put on her coat at the same time. I grab her arm to keep her still, afraid she's about to take a header down the entire flight of stairs to the foyer.

"Yeah?"

"Your shirt," her mother says, pointing her index finger.

"What about it?" Bella asks, looking confused _and_ mortified, her coat rolled up in a ball under her arm.

"It's on inside out, sweetie," she replies, gently shaking her head and closing the door.

"Oh. My. God. Edward, I want to die. Please run me over with your car. I'm begging," she pleads as we scurry out of the brownstone and to the Volvo. I just grab her hand and kiss it—I can't talk or I'll laugh, and if I do that, she'll run _me_ over. Hiding my shit-eating grin with her hand is my only option.

We hurry through the supermarket, grabbing whatever last-minute things Bella needs on her list. I can't help it when my face breaks into a smile as I watch her flutter around the store, studying a box of this or a package of that, helping an elderly woman reach something from a high shelf, or playing peek-a-boo with a baby who stares back at her with fascination.

Thinking about my life before the last few months, I wonder if everyday life was something that just happened around me while I was busy working or going to out to clubs and bars for nameless hook-ups with women I'd never see again. I think I'd trade every one of those nights out for one hour's worth of gazing at an adorably clumsy, amazingly big-hearted girl wandering through a grocery store.

"Brown Eyes, if you break your ankle, I'm not putting a cast on it. I don't know how," I tell her as she awkwardly tries to push herself around and stand on the bar of the shopping cart.

"Can you put my coocher in a sling?" she asks with a laugh.

"You can't break your vagina," I answer with a patronizing smile.

"You broke your sense of humor," she tells me as we stand in line.

"No, this is your _humerus_," I say, wrapping my hand around her upper arm.

"Seriously? The bone with the funny bone in it is called a 'humorous'? You doctors and your crazy in-jokes," she replies, clucking her tongue playfully.

"It sounds like 'humorous,' it's not spelled that way. And it's not a funny bone, it's the _ulner nerve_," I clarify.

"Oh yeah? Well, you're getting on _my_ ulner nerves. And you clearly don't have a funny bone in your body right now, Dr. KnowItAll," she retorts, rolling her eyes as she bends over the shopping cart to unload our groceries onto the conveyer belt. She freezes and her eyes widen in shock when I swat her backside.

She turns to me, stands on her toes, and presses her lips to my ear.

"If you do that again right now, that old man behind us will have a heart attack because I swear I'm liable to give you head in front of him and God and everyone else in here," she whispers, her voice husky.

"Oh yeah?" I reply with a smirk, trying to play cool even though my heart just started pounding and my mouth has gone dry all of a sudden.

"Yeah, and stop with the smug look. I don't fall for it anymore," she informs me in a very matter-of-fact manner.

_Damn it._

"So, Brown Eyes, what exactly does your mom know about us, just so we don't embarrass ourselves again in front of her?" I ask as we drive back home.

"She knows more now than she did before we left the house," she says with a chuckle, despite the fact that she's rubbing her forehead awkwardly.

"Well, that's obvious. What else?"

"She knows that I like you, that we spend time together. I told her we were friends. I mean, I didn't mention our arrangement. My mom's pretty open-minded but she's my mother, I can't tell her about that. She'd think…"

"That I was using you?" I offer, not hesitating to complete her thought for her.

"Using me?" she shoots back in surprise.

"Yes, because we're not dating but we're sleeping together. Wouldn't she see that as me using you?"

"Please," she snorts. "Just because I don't call you my boyfriend, it doesn't mean you're taking advantage of me, Edward. Haven't we argued about this enough? I don't care about what we call it. I know how I feel."

"Then what would she think about me, Brown Eyes? You were going to say something."

"Edward," she says with a sigh. I park the car and turn to look at her.

"Come on, out with it, already," I say, the irritation rising in my voice.

"She'd…Edward. She'd…feel sorry for you. For the both of us," she confesses in a soft voice.

"What?" I ask, looking at her with incredulity.

"She'd feel sorry that we can't just, that we have to…I don't know how to say it! That's the whole problem. We don't know how to say…what we feel," she sputters, covering her face with her hands. "Can we just go inside and enjoy our dinner?" she asks.

"Sure. We don't have to go into this now," I say, patting her leg. There's no point in having an uncomfortable conversation in my car while her mom waits for us to bring back groceries.

"Sorry," she offers, looking sad.

"Don't be. I'm the one who brought it up. I'm sorry," I reply. She puts her arms around me and we hug each other tightly, neither of us wanting to fight.

Once inside, Bella makes a beeline to shower and change. I want to head upstairs to do the same, but Reneé asks me to help her with a few things in the kitchen. I step toward the sink and quickly wash my hands.

"Here, I need these vegetables chopped," she says, moving away aside so that I can approach the counter and get started.

"Okay, sure," I reply, picking up the knife and starting on some asparagus. We work in silence for a few minutes, immersed in what we're doing.

"I'm sure Bella's told you about Charlie, her dad," Reneé says, after a while.

"Yes, I'm sorry for your loss," I offer.

"Bella took it really hard. It was almost worse for her than it was for me. I was there, with him, through the whole thing. She was here and only saw him towards the very end. I think the sight of her dad so sick and frail just broke her heart. I tried to warn her but nothing prepares a person," she explains.

"She does mention her dad a lot. I know she misses him."

"We both do. But Bella and Charlie were so alike in how they saw the world. How they thought. It made them close, 'thick as thieves,' I used to joke, since he was a cop," she smiles as she remembers. I smile back and nod.

"I won't mince words with you, Edward. You seem like a bright guy. My baby girl desperately needs happiness in her life. The last thing she needs is to have her heart broken again, to be sad again."

"I understand. I don't want that for her either."

Reneé turns and looks me right in the eye, her expression serious.

"Do you love my daughter?"

I nearly drop the chopping knife.

"I'm sorry?"

"Bella—do you love her?"

"I, um, I don't know?" I say, my words forming a question. "I'm really sorry, I…I should be able to answer that, shouldn't I?" I stammer. I really should be able to, but I can't.

"Look, Edward. I'm not exactly sure what's going on because Bella's never been very open about that kind of stuff with me. But I will say, this is the happiest I've seen her since we lost her dad," she explains.

"Really?" I ask. I'm surprised by this. It seems to me this whole arrangement just makes Bella frustrated and upset, because that's how she becomes whenever we discuss it.

"Every time we talk on the phone, she'll tell me about going out with you somewhere or spending time with you and she just sounds content. And seeing her in person now, I'm sure of it. Something is making her happy, Edward. Something _you're_ doing. Please don't take that away from her," she says, her expression soft, almost sad.

"No, I wouldn't…I can't," I reply, looking down at my hands.

"You can't? What does that mean?" she asks, eyeing me curiously.

"I can't do anything that would make her unhappy. Seeing her sad…I hate it," I divulge, feeling like I might as well say something to make up for the shortcomings that must make me seem sadly lacking in her eyes.

"It bothers you, when Bella is upset?" she asks, tilting her head.

"Yes, of course it does. Especially if it's over something I've done or said," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

"Sounds to me like you know more than you think you do, Edward," she says with a smile.

I'm about to ask what she means when Bella emerges from her bedroom, freshly showered and changed. She smiles at me warmly as I quickly try to check her out in her snug sweater and short skirt without her mother noticing.

"You like?" she mouths to me, putting her hand on her hip and strutting a little while Reneé still has her back turned to her. I give her a stern look but wink at her anyway. She covers her mouth and laughs silently.

I ask Bella to take over chopping duty for me so I can go upstairs and get cleaned up for dinner.

"Hurry up, I'm hungry," she instructs me.

"Yes, ma'am," I reply dutifully. Both of these women are entirely too bossy, and frankly, I need to get the hell out of here while I have all my limbs, and other necessary body parts, still attached.

While getting ready, I think about my conversation with Reneé. I wonder why it is that Bella's happiness is so important to me. I've never really considered someone else's feelings to be a priority of mine. I've always had friends, albeit with no one in particular being very close to me. Bella's easily the closest friend I've had in my adult life, and I want good things for her.

But a big part of it is that I like _seeing_ her happy. I like being the guy responsible for it. And I'm starting to worry that I'll fuck it all up somehow, that I've gotten into something completely out of my depth. Every time I try explaining this to Bella, how I'm just not the man she deserves, she gets distraught. She says I should trust her, and I do. It's _me_ I don't trust.

With a shake of my head, I will myself to clear my mind so that I can go back downstairs and enjoy the first real holiday dinner I've had, with company I actually enjoy, in a long, long time.

"Wow, now it smells _really_ good in here," I say, as Bella ushers me back inside her apartment.

"Thank you, Edward," Reneé says with a smile. "Come sit, everything's ready," she adds, pointing at the empty seat at the table. I pull Bella and Reneé's chairs out for them before sitting down myself.

"Oh," Bella and her mom say simultaneously, both looking at each other, then at the turkey on the table.

"Everything alright?" I ask, not understanding their slightly bewildered faces.

"It's nothing," Bella says weakly. She looks adrift, lost in an unhappy memory.

"Charlie used to cut the turkey," Reneé says in a soft voice, playing with her napkin. "I don't even know how," she adds with a stiff laugh.

"I think my medical training makes me qualified," I say, smiling. "May I?" I ask, looking at Reneé and gesturing at the turkey. She nods but doesn't look up at me.

"Are you going to give it a hysterectomy?" Bella quips, a small smile tugging at the side of her mouth. I could kiss her everywhere for teasing me and making those eyes look happy again.

Reneé throws her head back and laughs before running to the kitchen and getting a carving knife.

I lean over and kiss Bella's sweet, soft lips.

"What was that for?" she asks.

"Something had to shut you up," I mutter quickly as Reneé walks back over. I wince when Bella kicks my shin under the table.

"Do you need me to assist you, doctor?" Bella teases again. "Hand you your instruments?"

"I need silence while I'm working, Nurse Ratched," I tease back. "Plate," I say playfully, thrusting my hand out, waiting for her to place her plate in it.

"Yes, doctor," she says in mock seriousness. I look over at her—she's tied her napkin to her face like a surgical mask. I shake my head and laugh at how she'll stop at nothing to give me grief.

"Bella, stop teasing. You're so much worse than Charlie was at your age," Reneé scolds, but smiles nonetheless.

We dig in and enjoy the ample feast that Bella and Reneé have spent all day cooking. Bella thanks me for carving up the bird with what she deems 'delicious surgical precision' and I tell her I'll make a mental note to add her as a reference on my CV.

"Bella, make a toast, baby," Reneé urges.

"Should I?" she asks.

"Of course you should. We do it every year," her mother insists.

"Okay," Bella says, relenting with a smile before turning and facing me. "We each make a toast and say something we're thankful for," she explains.

"What are you going to toast to?" Reneé asks.

"I want to toast Rose and Alice," Bella says, "because if they weren't so noisy and obnoxious, I would've never moved into my own apartment. And I would've never met you, Edward," she adds with a shy smile. We clink our glasses together and drink to Bella's heartfelt toast…to me.

"Thank you, Brown Eyes," I reply, as I watch her face turn from a happy, to mildly sheepish, to something earnestly contented and simply beautiful.

"Is that…what he calls you?" Reneé asks Bella, only now just hearing the nickname I'm so used to using that I forget how it would sound in front of Bella's mom.

"Yeah, it's just a silly nickname," Bella replies, the blush rising in her cheeks again.

"It's not silly. I don't say it to tease you," I offer in soft voice. She looks over at me, her head tilted and propped in her hands as a shy, tender smile plays across her face.

Reneé watches us with a wistful expression.

"What's wrong, Mom?" Bella asks, noticing her mother's face. "Are you okay?"

"Nothing, sweetie," she replies with a genuine smile. "Daydreaming—just like you do," she offers casually before taking a sip of her wine.

"You do your toast now, Mom," Bella urges.

"Okay. I'm going to toast…déjà vu. History repeating," she says cryptically, raising her glass. Bella and I exchange glances, but raise our own glasses to Reneé's just the same.

"What are you thankful for, Edward?" Bella asks me.

I think for a moment before raising my glass and giving her my best smug look.

"A toast…to toast," I proudly proclaim.

"Toast?" she repeats, raising an eyebrow at me as the three of us tap our glasses and drink.

"To toast."

"Like what you do to bread?"

"Yes."

"Why are we toasting toast?"

"Because you make the best toast for my slightly runny eggs."

"Edward…I'm buying you one of those egg cooker thingies for Christmas, I swear."

"No, it wouldn't be the same. I need a Bella cooker thingy for my eggs."

"Alright you two," Reneé interrupts. "Never mind the eggs. You guys have a wishbone to fight over," she adds with a laugh.

"No wish for you, Mummy?" Bella asks in a funny voice, frowning playfully at her mother.

"I've had years of wishes, baby girl. And lots of them came true," Reneé replies, handing the wishbone she's pried from the bird over to Bella. I ask her if I can have a look at it.

"Ah, the _furcula_. Only in birds. They have this interesting fused clavicle," I say, scratching my chin and curiously inspecting the curved bone I'm holding in my fingers. I glance over at Bella, who, to my surprise, is smiling at me instead of waiting to tease me.

"Is he always that smart?" Reneé asks with a laugh.

"Yeah," Bella says with a sigh. She looks like…an odd mixture of turned on and doting, affectionate. I can't really understand it.

"Anatomy was my best subject," I inform her with a shrug.

"Not surprised," she replies sarcastically before clearing her throat. "Alright, Edward, grab the other side," she instructs, taking the wishbone and holding one end. "And make a wish."

I grasp the wishbone and one singular, crystal-clear thought pops into my head.

_I wish I could have you forever, Brown Eyes—in my bed, with me at work parties, watching TV, even at the supermarket. I wish you'd be with me everywhere, always._

I close my eyes for a few seconds and give that wishbone a nice yank. When I open them, I notice something peculiar about the _furcula_.

It's split perfectly in half—exactly down the middle.

"Huh, look at that," Reneé remarks with a grin. "You both get your wish," she informs us as she gets up and begins clearing the table.

"Awesome. I'm winning the lottery!" Bella says with a laugh.

"You wished for money?" I ask, mildly disappointed. I have plenty of money. It never really made me happy, just comfortable.

"Edward," she says, rolling her eyes. "I was joking. I'm not saying what I wished for, so don't ask," she adds, sticking her tongue out at me. "So, how many hoochies did you wish for?" she whispers, poking me in the ribs.

"Nice try. I'm not saying either," I reply as we both stand to help Reneé out with the dishes.

After eating entirely too much dessert and zoning out on the couch for a while, I thank Reneé for a wonderful Thanksgiving meal and say goodnight. Bella walks me up to my door. I press my palm to her cheek and kiss her once, then again, and by the third time, there's a fair amount of rubbing and grinding going on and we need to cool off a little.

"Come over tomorrow?" she asks.

"Of course," I tell her, stroking her cheek.

"Goodnight, Edward," she murmurs, giving me a quick kiss.

"Goodnight, Brown Eyes. Thank you, for dinner, and…everything else."

"Everything? Every last thing, ever?" she asks, her face impish.

"Yeah. The whole thing."

"You're welcome. And thank you. For the whole thing," she replies, taking my hand and playing with my fingers. She hugs me one last time before scampering down the stairs and going back inside her apartment.

I get changed for bed and realize I haven't read any of my email, so I quickly scan through my messages using my phone. I lie down in bed and stretch before putting my BlackBerry on my bedside table. I toss and turn because, despite my fatigue, I just can't fall asleep.

Impulsively, I grab my phone and log on to ÜberTwitter. When I look up Bella's _BadKittyKillKil _Twitter timeline, I laugh to myself because I'm greeted by this not-so-friendly message:

_This person has protected their tweets. You need to send a request before you can start following this person._

I click the little gray button that will send Bella a message saying that I've requested to follow her. If I'm going to spy on her, I might as well ask permission to do it from now on.

I refresh my Twitter replies page and see that someone has tweeted me.

_**BadKittyKillKil **_**U can't just txt me lk a normal person? U hv 2 read every conversation I'm having? I'm approving u but don't expect me to #FF u. Like ever. **

I can't back down now, so I tweet her back.

_**DrWhoHaHa**_** TY 4 allowing me 2 b ur creepy weirdo stalker who lives upstrs. #FF? Feverishly Fuck? That's crude, Brown Eyes. Thought we were like-making.**

I wait for a minute and see that she's replied.

_**BadKittyKillKil**_** #FF = Follow Friday, people u recommend others follow. Nothing to do with fevers or fucking. Why r u tweeting me?**

**_DrWhoHaHa_**** It's Thanksgiving and this Twitter thing has birds all over it. Seems appropriate. Gobble gobble. Actually, I think I prefer Swans.**

**_BadKittyKillKil_**** Will u go 2 bed? Build a model skeleton or something?**

I decide my reply demands a little more discretion than Twitter can offer, so I text Bella directly instead.

**I have a bone u can play with. –E**

**Ur attacking me from all angles! How about I come up there and beat you into unconsciousness? –BE**

**I miss my boobkies. –E**

**Fine. Alright. Here. (o)(o) –BE**

**Not the same. –E**

**It's the best I can do. Now go to sleep! –BE**

**Brown Eyes. –E**

**Green Eyes. –BE**

**Hey, I own the ocular nickname. Not sharing. –E**

**You can be BE too. –BE**

**But you're Brown Eyes. Because they are. –E**

**It doesn't stand for Brown Eyes. –BE**

**? –E**

**Bella's Edward. –BE**

**I like that. –E**

**Or, Boobkie Enthusiast. –BE**

**Can I be both? –E**

**Aren't you already? –BE**

**Good point. –E**

**Sleepy yet? I'm in bed. –BE**

**Me too. Yeah, I'm pretty tired. –E**

**Good night, Smoosher. –BE**

**Good night, Bella Brown Eyes. –E**

I turn my phone off and put it back on my bedside table. I can't suppress the huge smile I have on my face. She called me _hers_. And strangely enough, I think I want to be. I drift off, still wishing I had her body next to mine, my hand firmly affixed to her breast and my leg thrown possessively over her. But for now, I'll settle for simply realizing that I don't especially want to sleep in this bed alone again. _Like ever_.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN! I think the penny's starting to drop! YAY! Tune in next time, when we get another glimpse of TNGUSPOV.**

**Sorry I took so long to update, but I'm up to my eyeballs in holiday obligations. I'll be moving at a faster clip now. I hope. I have a Frenemies one-shot I'm working on, so please be patient!**

**I have a couple of things to pimp out…**

**First, I'm judging a contest called **_**The TwiFic Auto-Erotica Challenge**_**. Lemons in cars, people. Hot rods **_**in**_** hot rods. YUM. Go here and start your engines, bb's.**

**www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net / ~twificautoeroticachallenge**

**Next, I'd like to say a very special thank you to my dear friend Kim, aka kimpy0464. She wrote me a smoking hot, hilarious one-shot for The Fandom Gives Back. I gave her a prompt about an Edward who plays in a piano bar and she just took off. Check it out.**

**www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net / s / 5605854**


	19. Chapter 19

**Welcome back! Thanks for joining me again. And huge thanks for all your lovely reviews. I try to answer as many as time allows, but please know that I appreciate each and every one. We're almost at 6K and that just amazes me. That's more than any other fic I've written. Skittleward didn't even get that much love!**

**And thank you to Nina, aka WriteOnTime, my beta and bestie. She's the Bloody Mary 'hair of the dog' to my New Year's Day hangover. I love you, woman! Thanks also to the girls over on my Google group who offer support and encouragement on the regular. Another special 'ILY, bb' to Reba and Marisa for being all that and a bag of chips.**

**Jeez, people, it really does take a village to nurse **_**my**_** insecurities!**

**Without further ado…the one chapter most of you have been waiting for.**

* * *

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

Thanksgiving weekend passes by with more eating, watching TV, and goofing around with Bella. She's entirely too mortified to sneak back upstairs to my apartment, so I spend my time picturing sex with her without actually having any. I work a couple of short shifts at the hospital as well. It presents a somewhat adequate distraction, but nothing really takes my mind off Brown Eyes these days.

Soon, it's early Monday morning and time for my long 36 hour-long gauntlet at Brigham's. Renée needs a lift to the airport to catch her 6am flight to Phoenix, and I offer to take her.

"Bye, Mom. So good to have you here. I already miss you," Bella tells her mom, hugging her tightly.

"I loved being here, baby girl. And I'm so happy to see _you_ happy. More than I can say," Renée replies, kissing her daughter's cheek.

"Oh, Mummy, how I adore you," Bella jokes at her. "Have a safe flight. Call me when you get home, okay?" she adds.

A half-dozen or so more hugs later, I finally have Renée inside the car and we're off to Logan Airport. Brown Eyes is staying behind because I'm going straight to work after I drop her mom off. Renée and I make small talk, and she tells me about her career as an art teacher at an elementary school.

"You know, I have a degree in Fine Arts. I finally got my diploma when Bella was little. Took me ages to get all my credits while I was married and raising a little girl," she explains.

"My mom was in school for a long time, too," I offer.

"Oh yeah? What does she do?" she asks.

"She passed away. But when she was alive, she was a paralegal. It took her a fair amount of time to get her certification. She raised me alone."

"But she got to where she wanted to be. That's what matters," she says reassuringly. I notice that Renée is a lot like her daughter. She senses when something is an uneasy subject, yet can navigate through it. Unable to really add anything, I simply nod and keep my eyes on the road.

"Edward," she says after a long period of silence, as we approach the departure area of the airport. "You know the Sistine Chapel?"

"Of course. Michelangelo."

"It's one of my favorite works of art. I show it to students as an example of something that's pretty close to perfect," she explains. "A few years ago, they unveiled it after giving it a really meticulous cleaning. Apparently, time had covered it in layers of dust and the original colors had faded a lot."

"I heard about that," I reply, remembering some news item I'd read.

"You know what, though? Before it was restored, I thought it was amazing. Then when I saw how it had been fixed up…I was shocked. Turns out that beautiful ceiling really could look even more brilliant and priceless. I guess it made me understand that life can be funny…you don't know you've been missing something all this time…until you have it," she says with a smile.

Taking her suitcase out of the trunk, I turn to Renée to say goodbye. She offers me a warm hug that I gratefully accept.

"Thank you for the lift," she says, gently patting my arm.

"Anytime. Have a safe trip," I reply with a smile.

She takes her bag and starts to walk into terminal when she stops and takes a few steps back toward me.

"Oh, Edward…one more thing. My husband—he used to sometimes joke that he didn't know what I saw in him because we were so different. I'd tell him…'it's those brown eyes,'" she says, smiling at me broadly. And with that, she walks off again.

I drive into work with my head in a fog. I know what Renée is trying to say. I know what my boss Aro has tried to tell me repeatedly.

_Don't let go of a good thing…You make Bella happy—don't stop…Something in your life was missing; open your eyes and look around because you have it now…_

How do I feel about what's happening between the two of us? I have to be honest with myself. I have no fucking clue. I can't put into words what I haven't the slightest concept of. How does a deaf person describe music? How does a blind person describe colors?

One thing is certain—when I come home at night and walk through the foyer of the brownstone, if I don't hear someone singing off-key while making a God-awful racket with her cooking, and I don't see her happy face and smudge-covered apron, it's like the world is off-kilter somehow…because a world without her doesn't make sense to me anymore.

I shake my head and let out a deep breath as I curse the early morning traffic, as well as my inability to get my act together.

Later the next afternoon, I get a text from Bella. She's at the hospital today, volunteering at the ped unit for Brigham's social services department.

**Need to c u. Important. –BE**

**Okay. Lounge on third floor? –E**

**TY. See u there. –BE**

I haven't seen or spoken to her since I left yesterday morning to take Renée to the airport, and I'm not sure what's going on. To say I'm worried is an understatement.

"Brown Eyes, what's wrong?" I ask, in a panic. The look on her face nearly stops me cold. Her eyes are red, and she's pressing the back of her hand over her nose and mouth, literally holding her sadness at bay. I've done something stupid once again, but I don't know what.

"I was talking to a parent. I think I did a good job, just listening, letting her talk about how sad and stressed out she is. She seemed to feel better," she explains through sniffles. "But as soon as we were done talking. I couldn't…I couldn't keep it in anymore," she adds, covering her face with her hands.

"Come here," I say softly, putting my arms out. She practically hurls herself at me. I kiss her hair and smooth a tear off her cheek. I pat her back and hold her for a few minutes. Soon, her small frame relaxes against me and I know the worst is over.

"It's hard not to let it get to you, I know," I say, noting her sensitivity to death and illness considering her dad's recent passing.

"It does. But at the same time, I feel better too. It's oddly healing. If someone needs to talk or cry, I can listen, because that used to happen to me all the time. I used to be the one who needed to cry. Now I can be the one who listens."

"Absolutely. And you'll be the best listener here," I tell her in all sincerity.

"Thank you. And thanks for meeting me when I texted you."

"When I saw that you were upset, I thought for sure it was something I did."

"Oh no. I just needed…my best friend," she says, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

"You were upset, so you wanted to talk to…_me_?"

"Yeah, I…you're good at it," she says with an awkward laugh.

"I am? I didn't really even say anything," I reply, unsure of what sort of contribution my simply standing here could possibly make.

"You don't have to. Your hugs do most of the work," she tells me, resting her head on my shoulder and smiling with a loud sigh.

"I'm glad I'm good for something," I say, smiling back at her and rubbing her back.

"Edward," she says, rolling her eyes at me. "I won't admit this very often, so appreciate it while you can. You're good for a lot of things," she admits with a smirk. I just stare at her.

"What?" she asks.

"You're not going to take it back? Tell me it's indigestion or maybe a toothache that's making you a little sentimental?" I inquire, waving my hand for her to elaborate.

"Nope. You just plum wore me down, Edward. I now thoroughly admit that, I, Isabella Swan, do not find you as odious a character as I once did," she says with a laugh.

"Oh my God. Why do I not have this recorded? My BlackBerry has a video camera," I tell her as I take my phone from my pocket. "Can you repeat that?" I tease, pointing my cell at her.

"Sure, let me serve as an example for all your floozies out there. Edward Cullen will make your I.Q. go down on you faster than he can…" she says, shaking her head in feigned defeat.

"So much venom behind that sweet face," I tease back. She doesn't answer with words but snaps her teeth at me. I take her wrist and kiss it—a move I know always works to turn the venom back into honey, and judging by the sweet little purr she hums at me, this instance is no exception.

"You play dirty, Edward," she says, squinting at me playfully.

"You're discovering this now?" I ask, raising my eyebrow at her. Laughing loudly, she puts her arms around my neck and hugs me closely to her.

"Thank you for cheering me up. Making me smile again. And, you know, I'd, uh, be more than happy to repay the kindness later tonight," she adds, kissing me and chuckling softly.

I want to tell her that she's already repaid me. Seeing her crying turn into laughter is payment enough for me.

"Maybe _I_ can kiss _you_ and make it better?" she whispers in my ear.

"Brown Eyes, getting me undressed isn't the only way that you make me happy," I tell her.

She leans away from me to look up at my face. Studying me for a moment, it's as if she's deliberating on what to say next.

"The eggs?" she jokes, screwing her mouth up at me.

"What else?" I joke back with a wink. "But I'd love to review the syllabus with you later," I add.

Just as she's about to punch me in the arm, the door to the lounge opens.

"Hey! Look what the cat dragged in," says a voice I don't particularly want to hear.

It belongs to James, a colleague of mine with whom I used to socialize quite often before Bella and I began our arrangement.

"James. Good to see you," I reply stiffly as he approaches me. My arm tightens into a vice-like grip around Bella's waist, with her hand in mine. I don't particularly have any intention of releasing her any time in the near future.

"Haven't seen you out and about," he tells me, shaking my hand while very conspicuously checking out Brown Eyes. "And who is your lovely friend, Cullen?"

"Oh, Bella, this is James. James, this is Bella," I say. James holds his hand out to shake with her but she doesn't reciprocate. Because she can't.

"Edward," she says in a soft voice. "You have to let go of my arm." I clear my throat before allowing her use of her own limb again. She shakes James' hand and gives him a curt but friendly hello.

_He's leering at her like she's a piece of meat. Filthy motherfucker._

"Hey, what's the deal? I never you see around anymore," James says. He licks his lips as he continues to assault _my_ Brown Eyes with his eyes, which, I confess, I sorely want to slice out of their sockets with a rusty scalpel.

"Been busy," I say, shrugging my shoulders noncommittally.

"I see," he replies with a smug laugh. "So, Bella, are you the one keeping my _former_ partner-in-crime…_busy_?" he asks with a suggestive smirk.

He's _flirting_ with her. I run my tongue across my top teeth and clench my hand into a fist. It's exactly this type of scenario that I've been dreading—one where an opportunity presents itself that will lead my Bella away from me.

"I guess you could say I keep him busy, but someone needed to put him in his place," Bella says, her words clipped despite her sweet smile. In fact, she looks annoyed.

"Can't say I blame him. You seem like a helluva…distraction," he flirts with a licentious wink.

_That's it. Wink one more time and the eyes are getting removed. Try winking at her with no eyes, asshole._

"Believe me, James. You have _no_ idea," she replies. "And I doubt you ever will," she adds coolly. "Edward, I should get going. They're waiting for me over in peds."

"I'll walk you," I offer.

"Bye, James. Nice meeting you," she says quickly, nodding her head.

"Likewise," James tells her with another slick smile. "Say, Cullen," he begins, turning to me. "Will I at least see you at the Christmas party next weekend? You know what these horny nurses are like, bringing their sisters with them and hoping to double dip. I figured we could tag-team," he adds with a cackle.

I feel Bella cringe against my arm. While I'm relieved that she's not interested in this leering, lip-licking hyena, God knows what she must think of him. I'm embarrassed that Brown Eyes has to hear this kind of talk, even if it's not me saying it.

_God knows what she must have thought of me when I met her._

"Uh, yeah. I'm going. But I'll be there with Bella. Somehow I got her to agree to be my date," I say, smiling down at her. She smirks at me before looking down at the floor. "You'll have to fend for yourself, James, I guess," I tell him.

We walk the hospital corridor in silence and it makes me uneasy. I still have my arm around her—I didn't even let go when we squeezed through the lounge door on our way out. But I'm fairly certain Bella was thoroughly irritated by James, and I can't say I blame her, knowing her like I do now.

"Brown Eyes?" I say, stopping by the entrance to the ped's ward.

"Hmm?" she says, a far-off look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry you had to listen to James. The things he said, he's…"

"An asshole?" she offers.

"He's like me, yes," I say back. "Or, at least, like I regret being."

"Like you? Are you kidding me?"

"No, I wish I was kidding. James and I used to hang out a lot. Go out drinking and stuff," I explain, scratching my forehead and shifting my weight uncomfortably.

"Edward, having a douche for a friend doesn't make you one. Just means you have shitty taste in friends," she says with a laugh, shoving me with her shoulder.

"I know, but…I talked like that…acted like…a douche," I confess.

"Would you talk or act like that now?"

"Of course not."

"Then what does it matter?"

"But I've said and done things around you that were pretty…crass. I couldn't control myself around you. I shouldn't have been that way, shouldn't have been like that asshole who looks at you like he wants to salivate all over you."

"James is gross. You were never gross to me."

"You really think there's a difference between me and him?"

"You know, now that you mention it," she begins, putting her arms around my waist. "Maybe there is a _really_ subtle difference. If your personality lacked charm, sincerity, tact, warmth, an intelligent sense of humor, and compassion, you'd be _exactly_ like James," she recites, her eyes looking up at the ceiling as she pretends to concentrate.

"Identical?" I ask, playing along.

"Right down to the nasty, greasy ponytail," she confirms. I rest my palms on the small of her back and lean into her, kissing her full, tasty lips. I don't know whether she's saying these things to appease me or because she actually means it, but in any case, I'll take them.

"Thank you, Brown Eyes."

"You're welcome, and thank you."

"For what?"

"For calling me your 'date,' even if it was just to throw off Greasy Ponytail."

"That's not why I said it."

She looks at me with heavy skepticism, peering at me with one eye open.

"Alright, perhaps that _was_ part of the reason, because if he looked at your chest one more time, I think I might have crushed his trachea."

"Were you _jealous_, Edward?" she teases with a playful gleam in her eye.

"Well, no," I mumble unconvincingly. "I just don't like the idea of this guy being around you. Don't want him bothering you."

"Okay, but it doesn't _really_ bother me. I don't care what he says to me. I mean, yeah, I don't want to listen to it, but I can ignore him," she shrugs.

"Not just talking. The staring is unacceptable."

"Unacceptable, huh?"

"Yeah. And touching is worse than unacceptable. Just so you know," I say, my face turning into a scowl as my lips form a hard line.

"Edward," she scoffs. "There is no way I'd let that guy touch me. _No_. _Way_."

"Fair enough. But I still don't like thinking about it," I grouse with a frown.

"I get it, Captain Caveman. Ready to let it go now?" she teases.

"Don't want to," I tell her. Somehow my hands have managed to wrap around both her wrists during the course of conversation.

"Bring on the shackles," she quips, pushing her wrists to me as my hands remain around them. "I'm your prisoner," she whispers in my ear. I take a slow, deep breath to calm myself…God knows I could absolutely bend her over right in this corridor if she keeps this up.

"If I don't have my way with you tonight, Brown Eyes…" I whisper back.

"How about you finish up your shift and give me a ride home so we can…you know…work out some of this tension?" she asks with a playful grin.

"Capital idea, Brown Eyes," I reply, kissing her one last time before heading back to my patients.

I drive us home to the brownstone, breaking almost every traffic law enacted in the state of Massachusetts. It's been almost a week since we've had sex and I doubt either of us can handle waiting much longer.

"What should we have for dinner?" she asks.

"Anything we can eat fast," I say, standing behind her with my hands on her waist and kissing her neck as she rummages through her pantry. She hums at me and turns to face me, her mouth forming an adorable pout.

"I know, I'm feeling impatient, too. Almost a whole week," she moans, closing her eyes and letting her head fall to one side as I move my hands from her waist, up her sides, and to the swell of her breasts.

"How about we multitask?" I ask, running my fingers through her hair.

"And how would we do that, exactly?" she replies with a light smile.

"I'll get something ready for dinner and you'll find out," I say, patting her backside.

"Okay. I guess I'll just have to trust you, huh? And what am I doing while you get dinner together?"

"You," I reply, kissing along her jaw line, "change into something…_tiny_," I murmur into her ear.

"Oh God," she gasps, clearly getting a little worked up.

She's scurrying down the hall toward her bedroom as fast her two left feet can take her, and with a wink and a little shimmy of a happy dance, she shuts the door behind her.

I wash my hands and grab whatever leftovers I can find in the fridge—anything that can be eaten by hand, mostly. I set the table and put all the food out once the microwave (my only familiar piece of kitchen equipment) is done heating whatever needs it. I turn the lights down and light the candles that sit at the center of the table.

"Hi," Brown Eyes greets me, her voice a breathy whisper. I turn to look at her—_good God_—she's wearing this frilly little nightgown that's completely transparent.

"You look unreal in that, Brown Eyes…a true test of my control, little girl," I say with a smirk as I pull her onto my lap. She's so soft and smells delicious, all freshly showered with her hair piled on top of her head, loose strands hanging here and there.

"Thank you," she says with a shy smile.

"Hungry?" I ask, offering her a small wedge of cheese. Without answering, she opens her mouth. I gently feed her a little of everything, one small bite at a time, and she does the same for me.

"Is there going to be a lesson soon?" she asks, her impatience getting the better of her.

"Yes," I reply, grazing my hand across her breast. Putting her hands on my face, she strokes the stubble on my cheeks with her thumbs. She presses her lips to mine and moans when my tongue touches hers. My hand caresses her more purposefully now, flicking her nipple with my finger.

"More, please," she murmurs, rubbing my chest before kissing my neck and putting her hand in my hair, tugging it lightly.

"Patience, Brown Eyes," I scold playfully, removing my hand from her breast and resting it on her thigh. "Today's lesson is about control…exploring delayed gratification…" I explain as my palm skims the inside of her thigh and I part her legs slightly.

"Haven't we waited long enough?" she pleads, licking her lips and heaving a loud sigh.

"Yes. And that's why this is the perfect time to try this. Let me show you, okay?" I ask, kissing her lightly.

"Okay," she replies in a shaky whisper, and my fingers slip inside her flimsy g-string panties. I touch her very softly, and only for a few seconds. I chuckle when I notice Bella's eyes roll up in her head.

"Brown Eyes, you're going to have to try a little harder than that," I scold again. "The idea is to concentrate on how turned on you are—to only let yourself get aroused to a point."

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she nods before telling me to try again. I touch her once more, moving my hand in gentle strokes against her skin. She rests her head on my shoulder, her lips close to mine as I look down and study her face.

"Slower, please," she whispers, and I slow my hand's movement.

"Are you okay, can we do more?" I ask. She licks her lips and nods, her eyes still closed.

"Good girl. Such a quick study," I whisper, teasing her. "Put your hand on your breast, Brown Eyes. Like you've shown me before…that's it."

"Stop for a minute," she asks, needing me to give her short respite so that she can maintain control over her body.

It's just as well because I'm keeping cool on the outside, but my brain is continuously willing my dick to 'stand down.'

"Excellent. You knew it was becoming too much, so you asked me to stop. Can we resume?" I ask, and she nods her assent.

I make very, very slow circles around her clitoris with the tip of my finger, then alternate with light strokes against her soft labia so that the sensation isn't too overwhelming. Her head still on my shoulder with her face next to mine, I whisper more praise into her lips.

"God, you're fucking exquisite when you're turned on. Your body's all flush, warm," I tell her as I kiss her forehead, reveling in the sound of her happy little moans.

"And your pussy…_Jesus_," I mutter.

She takes another deep breath but doesn't tell me to stop or slow down.

"You're my good girl, Brown Eyes, following exactly as I say. Do you like pleasing me?" I ask.

She bits her lip and nods again.

"Well, you do please me, so much," I say.

She whimpers at me ever so softly.

"And you like the way my finger plays with your clit, don't you?" I tease.

"God, yes," she replies in throaty whisper.

"You want more? Can you handle it?" I ask.

"Can…handle…whatever you give me," she replies, her breathing increasing.

"I want to play with your hot little pussy until you can't stand it any longer," I say, moving my hand a little faster now. "Can you hold off just a little more for me, sweet girl?"

"Yes," she gasps, her head growing increasingly heavier against me as her neck goes slacker and slacker.

"I wish my mouth was where my hand is…kissing you, licking you…sucking your clit until your whole body shows me what I do to you," I tease, my fingers feeling her become slicker and warmer.

"Please…" she moans, opening her eyes. "Say…something _more_…please," she begs.

I almost ask her what 'something more' is supposed to mean but then I understand.

"Anything for you, Brown Eyes," I begin, looking right back at her. "Anything, because it's the least I can give you…you have no idea what you do to me…how smart, funny, and beautiful I think you are…I want to make you _feel_ what you mean to me," I murmur.

"Edward, yes," she exclaims softly as her lips part and her mouth hangs open slightly. Her hand flies to my cheek, grasping onto it. It's only another second before her breath hitches suddenly and her body shakes like a leaf.

"That's my good girl," I coo softly as she climaxes with a long, loud moan. She wraps her arms around my neck and whispers her '_thank you_' as I stroke her hair and massage her back.

Her words turn to kisses and my massaging hand finds itself kneading her left ass cheek. Soon, we forget about the chair we're sitting on and slide right off of it, rolling onto the floor. When she commands me to remove every last piece of my clothing, I laugh and do exactly as I'm told. Now it's my turn to follow directions, and I don't mind one damn bit.

We spend the rest of the evening having sex all over her small apartment until we're both completely exhausted. The highlight of the night, for me at least, is at the end, when we collapse on her bed and I finally get quality time with the boobkies.

The week comes to a close, and that Friday evening, I shower and get dressed for the holiday party courtesy of the hospital. It's the annual dinner held at one of Boston's oldest and most famous seafood restaurants, where the OB/GYN department rents an entire private room for the occasion. Barring my ambition and desire for that promotion from Aro, I'd still go because the food is fantastic.

I throw on my favorite Irish fisherman's sweater and a pair of khaki pants. My eyes fall to the small trinket box on my dresser where I keep cuff links and other odds and ends. Impulsively, I take out the thick silver ring that usually never leaves that box and slip it on my pinky.

Meeting me at her door, I give Brown Eyes some flowers I bought on my way home from work.

"You don't have to bribe me, you know," she teases, placing the flowers into a vase full of water.

"Hey, I like pretending I know how to treat a girl. Just play along, okay?" I say back, sounding a little grumpier than I intended.

"Okay, okay, grumble pants. I was just kidding," she says, kissing my cheek. I tell her I'm just hungry and didn't mean to sound like a grouch.

But the truth is, ever since we ran into James earlier in the week, my mood gets downright foul thinking of him seeing her again—in fact, the idea that any guy at this party might hit on her is something that plagues my mind a lot lately.

Locking her front door, she turns and gives me another kiss on the cheek, no doubt noticing that I'm still scowling. I offer her my arm and she graciously puts her hand around it. She looks beautiful in her colorful little cocktail dress with her long hair down—it's even more reason to feel like I'll be parading her around for any asshole to ogle and hit on.

We arrive at the restaurant just in time to be seated, and Aro has kindly offered me a seat next to him. Thankfully, James is on the other end of the table, talking and flirting very conspicuously with a leggy redhead. I make small talk with my boss for a while as our lobster dinner is served.

I laugh when I watch Bella struggle with her lobster. She eyes it, playing with one of its claws.

"Need help with that, Brown Eyes?" I ask.

"If you don't mind," she replies sheepishly. "Lobster isn't exactly indigenous to Arizona. And it's not like I could afford it since I moved here."

"Don't mind one bit," I smile, taking the lobster meat out of the tail for her.

She's quiet for a minute, and when I notice her nonchalantly wave her hand at someone, I look up and notice James raising his wine glass at her.

'_So fucking lucky you didn't wink, asshole,_' I think as I break a large claw with my bare hands with a loud crunching sound, sending bits of shell and lobster meat flying everywhere.

"Edward," Brown Eyes says calmly, waking me up from my Peckinpah-esque fantasy of bone-crushing, blood-soaked mayhem. "The lobster…it's already dead," she informs me.

"What? Oh, sorry," I offer, clearing my throat. I put down the heavy silver lobster cracker before I crush someone's skull with it.

We eat in silence, my eyes darting between Bella and James the entire time. I think he gets the message because he suddenly becomes really interested in the redhead next to him and doesn't even turn his head in our direction.

"So, Edward," Aro begins as we continue our meal. "How do you feel about getting promoted to a staff position once you've completed your residency?" he asks with a gleam in his eye.

"I'd be delighted," I reply with a wide grin. "Honored, in fact, Aro," I add.

"Good, because the spot is yours," he tells me, patting me soundly on the back.

"Fantastic…that's amazing. Thank you," I say, shaking his hand firmly in mine.

I turn to tell Bella the good news, but she's not there. My eyes immediately dart over to James, but he's still talking to that redhead. I scan the room and finally see her small form at the bar, her back to me. I want to get up and talk to her, but Aro holds my attention, wanting to chat about the details and logistics of what the promotion entails. Just as I'm about to excuse myself and bring Brown Eyes back to the table, I see that she's making her way back to her seat.

"Hey, I wanted to tell you the good news," I say excitedly.

"I heard," she says, her face pulled into what looks like a forced smile. She sets two cocktails on the table as she sits down. She takes a very long gulp of one without stopping until there's nothing left in the glass but ice.

"Whoa there, Brown Eyes, what's your poison?" I ask.

"Gay Groose," she says nonsensically, eyeing her glass like it emptied itself magically. "And barncherries…I mean brainberries…brancrabbies?" she carries on, amusing herself into a fit of laughter.

"How many of those did you just drink?" I press, completely bewildered. She couldn't have been gone for more than ten minutes while Aro and I were talking. No one drinks that fast unless they _want_ to get plastered.

"Pffff," she laughs. "I can't count. My mouth is terrible."

"Your mouth? You your mean '_math_' is terrible."

"No, I mean my mouth. It's stupid. Says all kinds of idiotic things. Comes up with all kinds of dumb ideas."

"What does that have to do with how many drinks you had?"

"TNGUS, my lovely fungus, it has _everything_ to do with it," she slurs, slapping her hand on top of mine.

I haven't the slightest idea what she's rambling about. I'm just grateful that dinner is winding down and I'm able to politely and discreetly cart her besotted backside the hell out of here. Luckily, no one takes note of the goofy grin on her face, most likely because they assume she's happy about my promotion.

I manage to stuff her back into the Vanquish, where she laments how much she'll miss the Pussymobile, but when I ask what the hell she's talking about, she won't say.

I literally cart Brown Eyes up the stairs to my place, where she takes a seat on the couch with an unceremonious flop. I ease myself next to her before putting my hands on her waist and depositing her on my lap. She smells of cranberries and cocoa butter and is completely plastered. It's probably the most entertaining, ridiculously cute thing I've ever seen, save for the fact that I wish I knew what spurred it on.

"_Ed-wurrrrrrrd_," she slurs, grabbing my cheeks with her fingers. "Stop staring at me. No, wait. Keep staring at me. I can't decide," she informs me. Her fingers move to my eyebrows, grabbing each one and moving them up and down. I can't do anything but wonder what the hell she's doing.

"They're like two caterpillars wrestling," she says with a snorty laugh. "Let's get rrrrready to rrrrrrrrumble!" she adds in an absurd baritone.

"Brown Eyes," I reply, laughing back. "You are stinking drunk."

She starts some sort of bizarre puppet show, anthropomorphizing my facial hair using funny voices.

'Why hullo there, Mr. Sexy Eyebrow Guy,' she says, speaking for my right eyebrow.

'Well, hullo back, Brown Brow. Wanna check out my _cocking _skills?' answers my left eyebrow.

'Um, ew. Can't you have a civilized, _high-brow_ conversation?'

'Don't get all _furrowed_, baby. I really could use someone to hang with, you know, we could maybe just sit here and _knit_. Makes me look good having you around.'

'Riiiiight. How about I hang with you, and you, ya know, _cock_ yourself at me?'

'You want me to _cock_?'

"Yes, please.'

'Okay, but I'm not the right eyebrow for you.'

'Will you just _cock_ at me, already?'

My eyebrows start moaning at each other, courtesy of Bella.

'Oh, Sexy Eyebrow, this is nice. Better than just you cocking at me.'

'Yeah? I think so too, Brown Brow. And thanks for pairing up with me. It was fun while it lasted, but I don't need you anymore.'

'I know. You're getting _raised_ and you don't need me.'

"Brown Eyes," I say, moving her hands off my face and holding them. "Why are you saying that? Because Aro said he's giving me the promotion?"

She looks at me with wide eyes as her chin starts to tremble.

"You don't need me anymore," is all she says.

"You're right. I don't need to go to these parties anymore. In fact, I don't want to," I tell her.

"I knew it," she says, turning her face away from mine and staring out the window at the snow falling outside.

"I don't want to go because if I have to put up with James and every other horny bastard leering at you, I will lose my mind," I inform her. "But if I did go, I'd never go without you."

"Really?" she asks, looking at me again.

"Really. Not because I have to. Not because I need to. Because I want to," I reply, holding her chin in my hand.

There's no way on Earth…not a chance here or in hell…that I'd turn to her and say 'thanks for the favor,' and walk away. Because simple favors don't make you insane with jealousy…they don't make you crave naps next to one person and one person alone…and they sure as hell don't make you think that the world loses all its sound and color without this person in it. I used to walk around deaf and blind, and I'm not going back to that.

I coax Bella into drinking some water and taking a couple of ibuprofen. She sits on my lap and munches on some crackers before starting up a conversation.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"There's this word. I'm beginning to hate it very, very much."

"What word would that be?" I ask, raising my eyebrow at her.

"The one that we use to explain why I go with you to parties and why you sleep with me. That word, it, uh…makes me sad," she confesses, absentmindedly playing with the buttons on my sweater.

"Oh, yes…the dreaded 'a' word. We don't have to call it that anymore, if you don't want," I say, removing her fidgety hand from my sweater and kissing it.

"Really?"

"Are we back to disbelief again, Brown Eyes? I don't lie, remember?" I tease.

"Stop being mean," she pouts.

"Stop being so shocked."

"No more arrangement?" she says, requesting something that's been obvious to everyone but us, it seems.

"No, no more arrangement. Just me. Just you. Because we want to be. What do you think?"

"I like that," she tells me, smiling sweetly.

"I like it, too."

"Sing me something," she says, curling up against me.

"What would you like to hear?"

"I dunno. I'm really happy right now. How about something to make me over-the-top happy? Is that asking too much?" she says, chewing her finger.

"Never," I say, rubbing her cheek with my thumb. She grabs my other hand and draws little circles on my palm with her index finger.

All I ever want to do is make her 'over-the-top' happy. But I just can't say what it is I feel, no matter how much I really want to. So I let Bob Dylan do it for me.

_When the evening shadows and the stars appear  
And there is no one there to dry your tears  
I could hold you for a million years_

Bella doesn't seem to recognize the song. In fact, she looks deeply lost in thought, her eyes staring out ahead of her.

_I could make you happy, make your dreams come true  
Nothing that I wouldn't do  
Go to the ends of the earth for you…_

Before I get to finish the last line, she joins in a beat early and finishes for me, saying the words that I'm not sure I could form on my own.

"…_To make you feel my love,_" she whispers.

I hold her face in my hands and just kiss the hell out of her.

"Do you feel it, Edward?" she asks, putting my palm over her heart. "Feel what I have…for you?" she adds, her voice tiny as her eyes redden slightly.

"Yes," I reply softly.

"Do you have any…for me?" she asks, her face so unassuming, mild.

"Always," I murmur, putting her small hand on my chest.

She looks at me for a moment, and then covers her face just like she did at the hospital—desperate to hold back. But I don't want her to, and I tell her I don't want her distressed or sad over me, not ever again.

"I promised you 'over-the-top' happy, Brown Eyes. That's all you're getting."

"Thank you, Edward. I want the same for you."

"I never wanted to make anyone happy before…never knew that it would make _me_ happier than I've been in a long time. And when something's wrong, the only thing…the person I need…is you, Brown Eyes," I tell her, kissing her hand over and over.

"Yeah," she says, smiling lightly. "They have a word for that…four letters…starts with an 'L,'" she adds, recalling our mornings together working on the crossword.

"Can you say it?" I ask, cupping her face and practically desperate to hear the words fall from her beautiful lips. I just have to hear it said first, just need her to say what I can't. Like that first time we were together, she needs to be the Dorothy that restores my brain, my courage, and my heart.

She sighs lightly and scratches my chin.

"Why do _I_ have to broach all the heavy subjects?" she asks, tilting her head. "You made me do this on my birthday, when I asked you to be my teacher," she reminds me, fidgeting with my hand before clasping it in hers.

I may be her teacher in one regard, but in this one…I'm simply hopeless. She's been the one to guide me, help me see all the different facets and dimension to a life I never knew existed. Not only that, she's unlocked something inside me I'd thrown so many padlocks on, it was long-ago buried and nearly forgotten. Nearly.

Four letters.

Fours letters picks open the last of the locks.

"I just need to hear you say it to me first. Please, Brown Eyes," I plead softly. "I was pretty fucking certain I'd never hear it again."

Her round eyes, so tender and sweet, look right into mine. Her mouth forms a sympathetic pout before one side curves slightly and she tells me something no one has said to me for over half my life.

"I love you, Edward," she whispers.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN! And I'm spent. No, the story isn't over. There's more to it. So, stay tuned for BPOV.**

**World's longest A/N busting through…step aside people.**

**OK, so if I had to pick a couple of songs that remind me of the story, the one mentioned in this chapter would be one of them. It's called **_**Make You Feel My Love**_** and it was originally written and recorded by Bob Dylan, but my favorite version is by Adele. It's simply beautiful and will choke you up. Here's a link to the video:**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com / watch?v=0put0_a—Ng**

**Someone asked if I had a playlist for TNGUS, and sadly, I don't. I mean, I sometimes listen to music when I'm brainstorming but it's not always relevant to what I'm writing. **

**I do, however, have one song that I sometimes listen to for inspiration. It's **_**One Day Like This**_** by Elbow. I'm kinda insane for Elbow, and it's because they have this ability to write lyrics about love from a man's perspective that are so understated yet unbelievably heartfelt and beautiful. Their songs are the only ones that make me cry, no matter how many times I've listened before. Big, fat sissy tears. Damn you, Guy Garvey! Damn you to hell! **_**Shakes balled-up badger paw.**_

**Anyway, **_**One Day Like This**_** has lyrics like…**

_**Oh, kiss me like the final meal…yeah, kiss me like we die tonight **_**[GAH]**_**  
**_

_**Kiss me when my lips are thin **_**[ie. when I'm sad. OMG, le sigh]**

_**Cause holy cow, I love your eyes **_**[of course you do, **_**TNGUS**_**]**_**  
And only now I see the light  
Yeah, lying with me half-awake  
Stumbling over what to say  
Well, anyway,  
It's looking like a beautiful day**_

**Here's a link to the song…grab a tissue. Just sayin.**

**www****(dot)youtube(dot)com / watch?v=mCJ7keVBj6Y**

**Last little blurb and I'm done. I promise! I'm helping to judge a one-shot contest called 'An Edward to Remember,' and it's for entries based on old Hollywood movies. Write fic about an old flick. Go here for more info:**

**www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net / ~ anedwardtoremember**

**Entries will be accepted beginning Jan****uary 7th and the deadline is January 30th. So start writing!**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY! ::mwah::**


	20. Chapter 20

**TNGUS readers! Welcome back and thank you for joining me again. I got so many thoughtful and lovely reviews from the last chapter. I'm simply touched and extremely grateful. Thank you so much for reading and sharing your compliments.**

**Thank you, as usual, to my beta and ego-stroker, Nina, aka WriteOnTime. Seriously, she needs to be awarded a medal or something for putting up with my incredible lack of respect for her time and energy. The woman betas for me at 2 in the morning! I need manners. She needs a vacation from me.**

**

* * *

**

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

"I love you, Edward," I whisper as I sit on his lap.

My heart feels as if the hooves of a thousand galloping horses are thundering inside my chest. I don't think there's enough alcohol on the planet to help me say that to him without feeling scared, even if he did tell me he wanted me to say it. Mostly it's because I don't know where it will lead us. I have that 'blindfold' on and can't see what will happen next. But I'm trying not to think about it—to not get ahead of myself. I just want to focus on us being here, together, right now.

I close my eyes, nonsensically thinking that it will make this feeling of nervous awkwardness disappear. But my eyes don't stay closed for long, because he pulls me into one of his signature life-squeezing hugs.

"I love you, too, Brown Eyes," I hear in my ear.

I could very well cry tears of relief—of sheer satisfaction in now having what I just _knew _he felt for me actually put into words. I silently thank God that he said it back to me so easily.

We stare at each for a moment. I can't tell what he's thinking, but he looks happy. I'm trying to figure out if anything seems different now that the words have come out. Thankfully, it doesn't.

My true feelings for him were something I could only demonstrate but not express in words. I was just too scared of freaking him out. He seemed to love me back, but my mind would race endlessly over how he'd react if forced to 'put a label' on his emotions. When I heard Aro telling him that the promotion was his, I simply panicked. Now we had no choice _but_ to discuss what was going on, because now we didn't have an arrangement to hide behind, for lack of a better way to describe it.

"Thank you," he replies, kissing me softly. "For saying it first. For saying it at all," he adds, looking happy and sad at the same time.

"Of course I'd say it. I already knew it," I confess with a smile. I stroke his cheek with the back of my hand, then trace the outline of his bottom lip with my index finger.

"How long?" he asks, smirking.

"Hmm," I say with a sigh. "A while," I answer coyly.

"How long's a while?" he presses, biting his bottom lip. I can't resist when he looks so adorably sweet—boyish.

"The night we came home from the movies. When we fought and made up. I knew then I loved you," I explain in a small voice.

"But we had a fight. I upset you," he says, tilting his head and looking perplexed.

"I know, but we worked it out, remember?"

"Yes, but all I did was say 'sorry' and hope you weren't too upset at me," he says with a furrowed brow.

"It was more than that," I offer, my explanation vague.

"Tell me, please," he urges.

"You said you trusted me. Told me about things that made you sad and I wanted…I wanted to know what they were, so I could help you, you know, not be sad anymore. That's when I realized…I probably felt that way because I love you," I confess softly, absentmindedly playing with his thumb as I feel my eyes start to sting again. He grabs hold of my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist.

"I'm just really happy right now," I tell him, yet another lump forming in my throat.

"You've got a funny way of showing it," he replies with a smile, teasing me for crying.

"Could you maybe…say it again?" I ask, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "I couldn't see your face before," I explain. Being able to see his face when he says it seems just as important as hearing him.

"I love you," Edward repeats, his bright green eyes looking right at me.

"God, I really like the sound of that," I say with a grin. He agrees that it does feel good to say it to me, and hearing that doesn't help the situation with my crying _at all_.

I think back to my mom's visit over the holiday weekend and all the little looks she'd give Edward and me when we were together. The last night she was here, she finally just broke down and told me to embrace whatever was happening, to 'follow my bliss' because nothing in life was more important than having someone to love. I thought school would be enough to piece me back together after losing my dad, but clearly, it wasn't.

Finding what I had with Edward was a gift I never expected. It was like digging up a wrinkled twenty dollar bill from your pocket when you're flat broke, or finally getting a turn on a ride in an amusement park after waiting in line so long, you almost forgot what you were waiting for.

"I'm sorry. I'm all weepy and silly. Distract me?" I ask, taking both his hands and putting them on my face. He gives me the best distraction ever when his lips touch mine—soft like a powder-puff, just like that first time inside our make-believe fort during the thunderstorm.

"I enjoy distracting you," he says with a playful smirk, as his finger moves lightly along my collarbone. When he starts kissing my neck, I'm _so_ distracted, I almost can't speak.

"So…there's more to the, uh, lessons, right?" I ask in a weak voice as my eyes roll back into my head. This is what happens when his hands are on my breasts and his lips are everywhere.

"Brown Eyes," he says with a scoff. "We're nowhere _near_ done," he explains between kisses. "We've got so much material to cover…_mmm_," he moans as he reaches for the zipper at the back of my dress, "too much material covering _you_ right now."

He works my dress down to my waist with a speed and finesse that still manages to astound me sometimes.

"See-through," he says with sigh, staring at me in my bra. "See-through's my favorite. God, you're gorgeous," he murmurs, stroking my cheek.

"Thank you, for always telling me that," I say, kissing his palm.

"It's true," he says with a playful look in his eyes. "The best part of being with you, of 'teaching' you, has been seeing how much you've changed. You're not shy anymore, not uncomfortable. You let me help you feel that way."

"Because you were always so sweet, so patient. The way you'd talk to me…touch me. You're very seductive," I accuse playfully.

"I'm sorry, but I have to disagree with you there. If anything, it was _you_ who seduced _me_, Brown Eyes, whether you had any idea you were doing it or not."

"See, this is the type of talk I mean," I reply with a smile.

"Truth," he insists, shaking his head. "I couldn't get enough of seeing you become that confident, sexy woman. I still can't," he admits, stroking the outside of my bra cup with the back of his fingers.

"I love you," he whispers in my ear.

"You said that already. I made you say it a bunch of times," I tell him, giggling.

"Should I stop?"

"No," I say with a frown. He puts his arms around me, and I sigh lightly as I rest my head on his chest.

"Maybe I used them all up—the 'I love you's," he teases.

"It doesn't work like that," I pout.

"No? How does it work, then?"

"You tell me you love me and I…_tolerate_ you."

"Hey, I don't like this new arrangement. Bring back the old one," he complains with a deep chuckle.

I glare at him and sandwich his lips together using my thumb and index finger.

"Cahn shay I ruv yoo rike dis," he mutters.

"Oh, that's true. You can't, can you?"

"No, I cannot," he replies with a smirk now that I've let go of his lips.

"How do I get you to say 'I love you' and nothing else?"

"I guess you need to find my lips some hobbies."

"Ooof, that's a tedious, horrible chore. Must I?" I ask with a laugh and a fake frown.

"Yes, I'm afraid you must. Your cross to bear and all that," he says with heavy sarcasm.

"If that's what it takes," I sigh. "Here, how's this?" I ask, kissing him gently on the lips.

"Brown Eyes," he says, after looking thoughtful for a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Will you, um, go on a date with me?" he asks nervously.

"You're asking me out? Like, on a _real_ date?" I reply, putting my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

"Why's that so funny?" he asks back, looking miffed.

"I don't know, don't you think that's moving a little too fast?"

He makes that same grumpy face he makes whenever he's complaining.

"Nice way to boost a guy's ego," he grouses.

"Oh my God! Your ego needs _no_ help at all, my friend."

"Will you go out with me or not?" he presses.

"Sure. Maybe we can even be 'steadies.' You can take me to the Sock Hop and then for milkshakes over at the drive-in," I tease with a cheesy grin.

"Will you let me look up your poodle skirt, Peggy Sue?" he teases back. He flicks one finger against the front clasp of my bra, causing it to spring open.

"What kind of girl do you take me for? Going to third base on the first date!" I argue jokingly, smacking his greedy hand away when he tries to grope my bare boob.

"That's kind of hot actually—you in one of those big skirts and a really, really tight sweater with teeny-tiny buttons," he says, shaking his head and groaning.

"Speaking of clothing," I begin, playing with the collar of his cable-knit sweater, "you look…" I try to say but words escape me.

"What?" he replies, looking smug as ever.

"Very, very handsome in this," I murmur, softly rubbing my palms from his shoulders to his neck.

"Thank you," he replies as he eases my bra straps from my arms.

"But I think you'd look better without it on," I tell him, pulling the hem of his sweater up as he lifts his arms. I take off the t-shirt he's wearing underneath so that I can touch his muscled, bare chest and feel the light smattering of hair between my fingers. I get lost for a minute, letting my hands and eyes roam his torso.

"What do you want, hmmm?" he teases. Edward loves to hear me say I want him, no matter how obvious it already is. I'm not entirely convinced that he insists on me doing it _just_ so that I feel less inhibited. Something tells me it feeds his inner caveman, not that he needs any more encouragement.

"I want to take a shower," I reply. "I'd like to wash off the alcohol. Feel less boozy, more…floozy," I explain, kissing his lips.

"Am I invited to this party?" he asks.

"Edward," I shoot back, rolling my eyes, "it's _not_ party if you're not there."

A few minutes later, we're in Edward's bathroom getting undressed as we wait for the oldest pipes in Cambridge to finally bring us some warm shower water.

"Allow me," I coo, unfastening the button on his khakis and lowering the zipper. "Let me show you how much I've learned since the first time we did this," I add with a smile.

Kissing me with a soft groan, his hands deftly slip between my hips and the fabric of my panties while I help him shed his pants and boxers.

"I was nervous the first time I touched you," I tell him. "Afraid you wouldn't like it or that I'd do something wrong," I confess as we stand under the hot water. "But I've learned a lot since then," I purr, letting my soapy hands trail up and down his abdomen, teasing him.

"Not possible, Brown Eyes. Not even the first time. God, you make me insane," he growls, pulling me to him and kissing me. His mouth isn't as gentle now—just eager, hungry. His big hands, just as eager and hungry, grope my backside.

"I love touching you now," I say, kissing his neck and continuing to tease him, stopping my hands just short of where I know he wants them to go. He moans when I take his wrist and press his palm into my breast. "And feeling you on me."

"I could _not_ get enough of you. It just got better and better, every time," he says.

"You're my Pygmalion, Edward," I reply with a small smile.

"No, I'm not. It's me who's transformed," he says, holding my face in his hands. "I never had anything like this before you. Never," he tells me. "I've been with…too many. But they never did for me what you do," he adds. "You believe me, don't you?"

Nodding my head slowly, I sigh as he lets go of my face and focuses his attention on my breasts, kneading them gently.

I stop teasing now and wrap my hand around him, not needing any instruction or guidance. Those days of being uncertain, both in how to be intimate physically and emotionally, are now in the past.

"I can tell when you're close," I say, studying his face. His brow is furrowed, and his eyes are closed. His lips curl upward on one side when he hears what I've said. "Your face gets so intense, and then just relaxes. You look…like the most sublime creature I've ever seen—otherworldly," I profess softly.

I'm surprised when he opens his eyes and stills my hand with his.

"I need you," he states simply. "Please, I need..."

"Tell me what you need. You always say you'll give me what I need. I want to do that for you, too," I reply, feeling the urge, the desire, just as badly as he does.

"I need to make love to you," he tells me.

"Yes," I answer, nodding my head quickly.

We impatiently help each other rinse and towel off. I give my hair the fastest blow dry I can manage. I practically sprint down the hallway to find Edward in the bedroom, and I just freeze in place because I have to stop and stare. He's only got a towel around his waist as he kneels on one leg to start up the fireplace and get the room sufficiently cozy. I watch his profile in the soft glow of the fire—his strong arm flexing as he arranges the wood with the iron poker. My shifting weight against the floorboards makes him turn his head toward me.

"Hey, beautiful," he says with a smile. "See something you like, Brown Eyes?" he teases.

"Where have I heard you say that before?" I quip sarcastically. "Oh, yes. The first time I ever saw you in my life and you were buck-naked. Yeah. Tough to forget that," I add, wrinkling my nose in fake disdain.

"You know what? You're the poster girl for the saying 'the lady doth protest too much.' Your picture needs to be next to wherever that phrase is quoted."

"What, it's my fault you introduce yourself to me naked?"

"No, but you keep mentioning it. I have to wonder if all I am to you is an object," he answers with a heavy, yet phony, sigh.

"You're the most lovable sex object ever, Edward—a completely sweet and somewhat harmless lady-killer, in fact. I'm head over heels for a heel," I declare, laughing at him.

"Come here and _kiss me, Kate_," he jokes.

"I can't say no, Edward. You're _too darn hot_," I snort sarcastically, rolling my eyes. I laugh as he scoops me up and carries me to the bed, but I stop abruptly when he just dumps me onto the center of the mattress.

"Not laughing now, are you, my little shrew?" he asks with a smirk, looking down at me from the side of the bed.

"_I hate men_," I say with a scowl.

"But I love you," he replies, sliding himself next to me.

"Oh, no. Did you hear that?" I ask.

"Hear what?" he asks, looking confused.

"Say it again. Then listen closely."

"I love you," he says again. "I don't hear anything."

"You don't? It's the collective mournful wail of all your hoochies past, Edward," I tease, cupping my ear with my hand and leaning toward the window.

"You're a laugh riot, little girl," he replies, clearly not amused. He grabs my sides and digs his long fingers into my ribs, tickling me. "A. Laugh. Riot."

"Yeah, I am," I protest, shoving at his hands and trying to squirm away. "Look! One just flew by the window," I exclaim, sitting up and pointing out the glass pane. "They're jumping! No, hoochies! Don't do it. There's always James!"

"Okay, I'm kidding! Please stop," I squeal, all the air being tickled out from my lungs.

He lets up and leans away from me so I can breathe. I wrap my legs around him, the fact that we're both only wearing a towel be damned. This is me with _my_ Edward, and he loves me.

"So many delicious spots," he says, opening my towel and inspecting my bare skin, "I don't know where to start."

"Mmm," I purr as his tongue teases my breast. "I don't care where you start…just don't stop," I sigh.

"Mine?" he asks as he eases his hand between my legs.

"Don't ask me questions you know the answer to, baby," I tell him with a smile. "You're a smart guy. Whose do you think it is?"

"I like to hear you say it," he complains, with that Cro-Magnon scowl that should be overbearing, but it's sexy and masculine and it melts my insides.

"I'm yours. Every part of me," I whisper. "I belong to you now. My body, my heart—it's yours, Dr. Cullen," I promise, whispering back the same words he said to me the first time we were together. But this time, there's no role play, no pretending, and no game.

Edward's eyes light up suddenly as he recognizes that I'm repeating some of the things spoken that night he very sweetly and gently showed me what it was like to be with a man.

"No more 'like-making,' Brown Eyes," he says with a serious expression. He's done pretending too, it seems.

"No. No more 'like-making.'"

"I didn't know how to make love before I met you," he whispers.

"That makes two of us," I say with a smile. "I didn't know either. But I do now," I add, my hand pushing him onto his back.

I straddle his hips and lean forward, kissing him softly and teasing his tongue with mine. His body tenses and he lets out an impatient moan when I rub myself against him.

"You didn't just open up and bloom for me, brown-eyed Bella," he says, sitting up with me still straddling him. "You became the most perfect flower I could ever have."

We sit facing one another as he lifts me by the waist, positioning our bodies that he can be inside me. Clasping my legs around his mid-section, I lower myself onto him, arching my back in response to how good it feels when we connect, bond, and link to one another.

"My Edward," I murmur, holding his face in my palms as his strong arms pull me into a tight hug.

I move my hips against him slowly at first because I want to savor how it feels, make every second last as long as it can. Our bodies are locked together, pressed chest-to-chest, and it's the most fulfilling, divine, and perfect thing imaginable. I press my lips into his until we're both breathing too fast to keep kissing. Keeping the momentum deliciously steady and gradual, I rest my head in the crook of his neck.

"Look at me, sweet girl," he urges in a soft voice. I smile when I recognize that ardent expression on his face.

Right now, we do for each other what we have been doing for a while now—we make each other happy, feel complete and whole.

"You're the only man I'd ever want, Edward," I confess as I feel myself start to climax. "I love you, baby," I repeat, my words coming out in a slow moan.

"I need to be that man, Brown Eyes…I just need you," he confesses back as he cums inside me. "God, I love you," he says, his breath coming out in little growls with each exhale.

Edward lies us both down and we curl up together, our arms and legs wrapped around every available surface of each other's skin.

"You never answered my question earlier," he says, twirling a lock of my hair and using it like a paintbrush against my skin.

"Which question? I think I'm out of brain cells right now."

"The one where I asked if you'd go out with me," he replies, his brows raised anxiously at me.

"Of course I will, you crazy person," I say with a laugh. "I have to ask _you_ though—why so nervous?"

"I'm not sure. You do that to me. I still don't know what to expect. Maybe you'd turn me down."

"Turn you down? After all the mushy talk and sissy tears and you know, the hot lovin', you think I'd say 'no' to dinner and a movie?" I ask, a little surprised.

"Well, I think it's like this. First of all, I never know what to expect from you," he jokes as he cuddles up to a boobkie, wrapping his big hand around my breast. "And I dunno, maybe I'm worried because I have something I value and that's never been the case before. How do I take care of you? How do I make sure I give you what you need? I think about that and I get nervous."

"That's really sweet. I don't know what to say," I reply, rubbing the ring on his pinky with the tip of my index finger. "I guess I never know what to expect from you, either."

"It was my mom's," he tells me, holding up the hand that wears the thick silver ring. "I haven't worn it in a long time."

"There's something engraved on it," I notice.

"It's a capital 'E.' Her name was Elizabeth. Everyone called her Libby, though."

"Do you miss her?"

"Sometimes."

"Edward," I begin, feeling like now is the time—if there ever was a time—to ask what I've been curious about for a while now.

"Hmm?"

"Does your father know about you?" I ask, my voice a tiny sliver. I'm wary of pushing too hard, of stirring up emotions he'd rather leave buried inside.

He doesn't answer at first, and I think maybe I have overstepped and a crossed into territory I should've avoided.

"I don't know," he states blankly.

"You've never tried looking for him?"

"No."

"I'm sorry. I'm making you uncomfortable."

"It's an uncomfortable subject. I don't think it's possible for it not to be."

"I'm still sorry, though."

"Why? You haven't done anything."

"I know. But…you not knowing your dad…not having your mom around."

"You didn't cause those things," he states logically.

"I know," I repeat, sighing. "I'm sorry you don't have parents, a family that cares about you, loves you. What about your grandmother, is she, you know, special to you?"

"Not really."

"How come?"

"I never got along with my grandparents. I went to live with them when my mom died and things were just…bad from the start."

"Do you want to tell me?"

"I don't know. I've never talked about it before."

"What happened?" I ask, stroking his cheek that it would soothe him, help him talk.

"They brought me to Chicago for my mom's burial and told me I was living with them. I didn't really have an opinion one way or another because I didn't know them."

"You never met them before?"

"No. I met them at the hospital when my mom passed away."

"Do you know why?"

"My mom just told me she had family but she wasn't close to them. She'd say 'I left Chicago in Chicago,' and leave it at that. I had no idea what that meant."

"Did they ever explain it—your grandparents?"

"I was shipped off to Andover for private school before I could ask."

"They _made_ you go to boarding school?"

"Well, I sort of forced their hand, really."

"What happened?"

"Our things—the things my mom and I had in New Haven, they were shipped to Chicago, and my mom had boxes and boxes of stuff she saved that I wanted to keep. My grandfather said 'throw the lot of it in the trash. The whole thing,' and when I heard him say that, something in me just snapped. I grabbed my baseball bat and smashed his study to pieces. I felt like he was trying to 'erase' my mother. It was a mistake, I shouldn't have done it."

"Edward, you were just a kid! Of course it would make you mad," I say with conviction.

I feel my own anger rising. I don't know Edward's grandfather from Adam, but even I have to suppress a swell of bitterness for how he treated the death of his own daughter and the insensitivity he showed his own grandchild.

"But I think all I did was prove to him that I was just like the rest of the 'trash' he didn't want. I was garbage, too," he says plainly, as if he's reciting a simple fact.

"I'm sure he didn't feel that way. You stop talking like that," I say, raising my voice slightly. I'm surprising even myself at how indignant I am over Edward thinking so little of himself.

"Well, I'll never know. My grandmother told me the next day that I was being sent to Andover. I knew they were wealthy. They probably called the school, wired some money, and it was a done-deal."

"But didn't you ever visit them? Go home on breaks?"

"I tried to avoid it as much as possible, to be honest. I hated them when I was younger. I saw the life they had—very rich, huge house, a staff at their beck and call. And I couldn't believe how they lived like that while my mom struggled to get me scholarships so that I could go to a private school for gifted kids. They had everything. My mom had nothing. I didn't know why, but the reason couldn't have been valid, whatever it was."

"This is why you said your inheritance isn't important to you."

"And it still isn't. But I'll happily spend it on what I need and nothing more. At least I can be grateful to my grandfather for leaving me that before he died."

"I can understand why you feel that way. What about your grandmother? Doesn't she want to see you?"

"She isn't in the best of health. She hasn't been for a long time."

"But, doesn't she miss you? She's close by…" I press, not understanding why, after all these years, they still haven't managed to form any kind of relationship whatsoever.

"It's not that simple," he says, his voice reflecting slight irritation, like he didn't want to go into this any further.

"I'm sorry, I'll drop it. You know I'm only curious. I don't mean to dredge up bad memories."

"Ha," he says with a sniff. "Funny you should mention memories. That's the entire problem."

"What do you mean?"

"My grandmother. She has senile dementia—Alzheimer's. She doesn't have any memories. Not any of me, at least."

"Edward," I sigh, holding his face in my hands. My heart simply breaks for him. He has no one; his only living relative not even able to recognize him, even if she did want to get to know him at all.

Worse than that, Edward's past seems doomed to stay there forever—he's right, in way, about being 'erased.' There's no one left to unravel the truth about who he really is. There's no one left to tell him where to find his father and why his mother raised him alone with no family to help at all. The only proof of his ties to any legacy laid down by the Chicago Masens is his inheritance—material things that can't buy him what he's missing.

"Hey, hey…why are _you_ crying?" he asks, mirroring me by putting his hands on my face. "I thought this was my sob story," he jokes softly.

"I don't like your sob story. Don't even like the name 'sob story.' And I don't want you to have one," I sputter nonsensically. I could barely put into words how deeply all this affected me. I had a hard time imagining what it must have done to him.

"You know I can't handle it when you're upset," he says, exhaling deeply and wrapping his arm around my shoulder. "Come on, Brown Eyes. You're more broken up about this than I am. It's just the way things happened," he explains, trying to soothe me.

"But it should have been different. You should've had more," I argue, sniffling.

"It doesn't matter," he says with a light smile.

"Of course it matters, Edward," I insist.

"But I have everything now. You make it better," he says, lifting my chin with the tip of his finger so that I look up at him.

His face looks perfectly angelic when he says those words, and I can see the happiness in eyes. They're the very place I can see his soul so clearly, and the longer I look, the more I see how that 'little boy lost' is slowly turning into a 'little boy found.'

"I…make it better?" I ask tentatively. I feel a little overwhelmed at being able to do so much by not really doing anything at all.

"You make everything better," he informs me before kissing me softly. "Eggs especially. I'd like a western omelet in the morning, by the way. Go easy on the cheese," he jokes, but I fail to see the humor in him acting like an ass.

He lets out an exaggerated 'ooof' sound when I punch him lightly in the ribs.

"That's it. I'm buying you a chicken to go with your pig tendencies. You can open a petting zoo while I move in with Alice and Rose."

"No," he protests, grabbing my fist and easing it open, his strong fingers prying my fingers apart with almost no effort at all. Once he has my palm open, he presses it to the left side of his chest. "You can't leave," he says simply.

"I can't, huh? And what makes you so confident about that?" I ask, raising my eyebrow at him.

"Easy," he laughs, rolling me onto my back and pinning me underneath him. "See, you can't leave," he adds, nuzzling his face into my neck and getting into his usual sleep position—the one that deprives me of any movement. I love the Smoosher, even if sometimes he cuts off my oxygen supply.

"No," I reply, conceding defeat. "I couldn't leave you," I whisper, kissing his forehead and closing my eyes, letting myself fall into a peaceful sleep as Edward begins to snore lightly into my ear.

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**DUN DUN DUN! Love requited! Truths revealed! Questions answered! Okay, maybe I'm playing it up a little to make it sound more exciting. Throw me a bone here, people. ;o)**

**The lines spoken when Edward throws Bella on the bed are from the musical **_**Kiss Me Kate**_**: 'Too Darn Hot' and 'I Hate Men' both being songs featured in it. Music and lyrics were written by the legendary Cole Porter.**

**Thanks for reading. ::mwah::**


	21. Chapter 21

**Welcome back! Thank you for joining me once again. And thank you, as always, for your kind reviews and support. It means a lot. I didn't have much time to reply to many last time because of all the stuff I have going on, but I'll try my best this time! :o)**

**Thank you to my wonderful, witty, whimsical beta, Nina, aka WriteOnTime. Cos she gives a fuck about an Oxford comma. I'm George and she's my Weezy. For sheezy.**

* * *

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

The warm winter sun on my face brings me out of a restful sleep. I stretch as much as I can, being snugly buried under the warm weight of Edward's still-slumbering body. I can't suppress the happy feeling inside me, thinking about where our relationship is going—well, it makes me happy just to be able to call it a _relationship_ and not a friendship or…that word I now hate. _Arrangement_.

I know I love this man. I know it because I've spent years studying the idea of love, of passion. Read countless poems, novels, short stories. I very carefully examined the concept of love, approached it like a scientist. All that hard work—analyzing, theorizing. Writing papers. Debating other students in class. Guess how much it taught me about love.

_Not a single fucking thing._

In some ways, Edward was right when he teased me for writing a thesis about erotic poetry when it was obvious I had no earthly idea what passion really felt like. I didn't know what those things were because I never experienced them before. You can't learn about a feeling.

Love just happens. There is no science. No scholarly dissection. It hits you in the everyday moments—when you're tired and see there's a shoulder waiting for your head to rest on it. When you feel restless and find your true home is a perch on someone's lap. When you feel lonely and realize you're never alone when someone else wants you, needs you.

I run my fingers through Edward's messy hair and pat his cheek lightly. I still feel a keen ache, deep in my chest, over his empty and lonely past. I vow to try my best to help him make some new, happy memories to replace the old, sad ones. As long as he's willing and trusts me, I'll be there, ready to share my everyday moments with him.

Kissing Edward's cheek, I manage to roll out from under his smooshing. One quick shower and a borrowed t-shirt later, I get to work on breakfast.

I smile when I hear Edward's bare feet padding down the hallway toward the kitchen. His timing is perfect. His warm lips kiss up and down my neck, his body presses up behind me just as the toast pops from the toaster.

"I was dreaming about this," he says, his deep voice shooting a spark straight through me.

"About molesting me in the kitchen?" I ask with a laugh.

"No, about a nice, hot breakfast waiting for me when I woke up," he replies, and I can actually _hear_ the smirk curl up on his face.

I don't bother turning around—I just wave my big wooden spoon over my head at him. He insists he's kidding, and I attempt to stand my ground and hang on to my irritation just as fiercely as I can. But when his arms wrap around my waist and he swallows me up in a big hug from behind, all my resolve melts away. His scratchy whiskers lightly scrape my cheek, and I turn my face into his so I can take in his freshly-awake, manly-man smell and minty-brushed teeth.

"You better be careful," I joke. "The guy who lives here might walk in on us."

"Is he your boyfriend?" he asks, shamelessly groping my boobs.

"I, um, I don't know," I reply distractedly, trying to concentrate while his obvious erection rubs against my backside. And I really don't know if Edward wants to call himself my boyfriend.

"Does he love you?" I hear whispered into my ear. His voice is a little bit of tease and a lot of naughty.

"Yes," I whisper back. I'm not sure when my hips decided the boner-rubbing was so agreeable, but they obviously have, because they're helping my butt to rub right back.

"Do you love him?" he asks in another whisper, his voice so seductive and husky, I need to grab onto the kitchen island in front of me to keep the floor from going out from under me. I try to make a mental note to ask Edward for a lesson in phone sex, but I doubt I'll have the wherewithal to remember.

"Yes," I reply in a tiny hiss. I'm saying 'yes' to his question, 'yes' to his hands tugging and pinching my breasts, 'yes' to anything he wants. Whatever it is that entrances me—stops me cold and pulls me to him like lead to a magnet—takes over. Like always, my skin begins to prickle and get warm, and all I can think about is _him_.

"Sounds like this fellow would have to be an idiot to consider himself anything _but_ your boyfriend," he tells me, his hand creeping inside my panties until his fingers nimbly reach where it feels like it's on fire. "God, you are entirely too difficult to resist in just my t-shirt," he adds, pushing it up toward my shoulders and he kissing his way up my bare back, all along my spine.

"He," I try to say as one of his hands strokes between my legs and the other slides inside my shirt to cup my breast. "Can call himself whatever he wants, so long as he loves me."

"Can he _do_ whatever he wants—to you?" he taunts.

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

"Because…I want him to, and…" I try to explain, my mind in a fog from Edward's velvet caresses and words like that drip like honey.

"And what?" he probes.

"I am his, but…_he is mine_," I say, my words urgent and intense. I feel Edward's finger tease and rub against me and I want him more than I can explain. Saying that we belong to one another seems the best way to encapsulate what drives us to feel so entirely consumed.

Edward growl-mumbles something I can't understand, and I'm not really sure I care. His other hand pushes and pulls at the fabric of the clothing between us until there's nothing in the way and I feel him push into me. I gasp as my knuckles turn white from griping the edge of the countertop.

"I can't think," I mumble, my head falling forward to rest on the cool granite. "Everything…stops," I say. His body is flush with mine as he fills me.

"Do you think it's different for me?" he whispers in my ear, almost like a taunt. "I can't...stop myself," he murmurs, kissing my neck as his hip curl and grind against me. "Every last thing about you, Brown Eyes, calls to me…sings to me," he purrs like a demon.

"The things you say," I sigh. "Always, what you say. God, Edward," I moan dreamily.

"You know I mean them. Tell me you know," he urges, moving against me, making me shake from the inside out.

"I know you do," I sigh.

"Can't resist…just taking you. Need to take," he grunts, moving faster.

"You can't take what I've already given you," I tell him, my whole body beginning to tense up and tighten.

"I love you," he groans, his movement becoming almost frantic, demanding.

"I love you," I pant, becoming breathless. "Don't explain. Don't excuse," I murmur, barely able to get the words out while Edward's skillful fingers between my legs make me shudder and everything starts to erupt.

"So good to me, my sweet Brown Eyes," he groans. "Give me," he gasps as I slap my hand against the granite underneath me, my climax taking over every fiber of my being. With one last hard jolt into me, Edward's body then goes slack and falls forward, leaning on top of me as he cums and murmurs sweet words of affection.

"Thank you," he says, smiling sheepishly as I turn around and enjoy the feeling of his arms wrapped around me. "Sorry I distracted you," he offers, stroking my cheek.

"Yes, that was a very sneaky and horrible thing you just did," I tease. "Here I was ready to enjoy my wheat toast and eggs," I add, kissing him lightly.

"Is it…um, okay?" he asks, looking distinctly uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"The eggs? I think they'll survive," I joke, not quite understanding what he's asking.

"No, I mean the part about being your boyfriend?"

"Only if you're okay with it?" I ask back, without a whole lot of conviction. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, you know," I stammer, not wanting this conversation to veer into subject matter that could be awkward and hard to discuss.

"What?" he urges, pulling up a chair and sitting down, bringing me with him so I can settle into my favorite perch.

"When we first got together…you gave me some advice. You told me not to do anything with a man just because I think that's what he wants—to only do what I felt comfortable doing, only what made me happy. Remember?"

"Yes, I do," he replies, nodding his head.

"Well, this is sort of the same thing. I don't want you to offer me something because you think it's what I want. Give it because you want to," I explain.

I'm nervous now that I've decided to clarify this instead of just accepting it at face value. But while Edward went out of his way to explain how to relate to him physically, I would like to do the same for him when it comes to our emotions.

"I can tell you right now that my motivations are entirely selfish," he says, laughing into my skin as he presses his nose and lips to my neck. "I want you to myself, and I want everyone to know that fact in no uncertain terms," he adds as he paws my breast and bites my earlobe, making my skin turn into gooseflesh.

"God, you are so _good_…at being _bad_," I say, trying to fight him off and not succeeding. "Do you want to eat or not?" I ask.

"I'm ravenous," he says, biting my neck. "And you're delicious."

"Edward Cullen, " I whisper. "You are going to be the death of…my willpower."

We eat our eggs eventually, giving up on doing anything but bringing breakfast back into the bedroom. Keeping the bed in close proximity seems the wisest option for some reason, and I think it has something to do with us not being able to stop touching each other.

"This is like a marathon of horny," I tell him, plopping myself back down on the bed after another round of romping.

"Yeah, can't complain though," he tells me with a wide, glowing grin as he lies down beside me, easing his arm under my head.

"Can't complain," I say in agreement. "A couple copulating…can't complain," I sigh, my words nonsensical. I'd try to sound more intelligent if I had the energy.

"Copulating?" he asks, kissing my hair. "Correction—coupling."

"Coupling?" I ask, wondering if he really means to make it sound more romantic.

"Can't copulate. Caring creates coupling," he explains.

"Caring cad," I say with a snorty laugh.

"Cruel, cruel cutie," he accuses.

"Catching cold comfort?" I question, rolling my eyes.

"Contrary company," he laments.

"Correction—courageous castigator," I sniff.

"Conquered," he whispers seductively, admitting defeat. "Cunning coquette."

"Crude, crass," I try to argue as he kisses my cheeks. "Charismatic…captivating," I say with heavy resignation. "Comparable comparison? Condemnable," I sigh, the words lightly billowing out of me.

"Criminal," he replies in agreement, licking my nipple.

"Can't continue…" I moan softly while his hand meanders down my side, across my hip, and toward my pubic bone.

"Mmm, candied chasm," he hums as his finger teases between my legs. "Candy-coated," he purrs, putting his fingers to his mouth and then back again.

I close my eyes, and feel his warm breath on my cheek, his lips touching my skin ever so lightly.

"Carnal, comely…come, coquette…_cum_," he urges in a soft whisper. "Cum."

And that's exactly what I do, in one long, exhausting torrent, huffing and puffing like a steam engine.

"Casanova," I mumble softly before dozing off. The last thing I hear is a soft, muffled chuckle from Edward's chest.

The rest of the day and evening passes in a similar fashion—the two of us eating, sleeping, and pawing at each other without a whole lot of regard for the rest of the world.

That Tuesday, I'm at the hospital helping Shelly Cope, the social worker I volunteer for, finish up some paperwork in her office before I head home for the day with Edward.

"Bella," Shelly says, smiling at me. I look up at her and smile back.

"You know, you could be doing more than just getting volunteer credits with your time here," she tells me.

"What do you mean?" I ask, wondering if she hinting that I haven't been living up to her expectations.

"No, not what you're thinking," she replies, patting my hand. "I mean, you could do something more than just volunteer. I've observed you with quite a few patients and their families now. It's not as easy as it looks. But you have a gift, Bella."

"I do?" I say, the hesitation in my voice very clear.

"You have the gift of empathy—not sympathy, _empathy_—and that is a rare trait, even among some social workers," she says, smiling again.

"Thank you," I reply, looking down at the papers on her desk. I'm really flattered by what she's telling me. I do genuinely enjoy working with the kids here, even if the job is an emotionally-demanding one. I can relate to these families and what they're going through. I was in their shoes. I know all too well what it's like.

"Have you thought about a career in social work?" she inquires, lowering her reading glasses.

"I haven't," I say, letting out a deep breath. "Well, not specifically. I just know that I was feeling a little…feckless? Like I wasn't really on the right path. I sent out some applications for graduate programs in literature. I'm almost wishing no one accepts me," I confess. "But doing this has been unbelievable. I think I get more out of it than I give," I add, feeling relieved that I can put into words what's been swimming around my head lately.

"That's a good sign—getting back more than you give. Working in this field, that's almost a requirement. You should think about it. Look into some of the Master's programs out there. I probably don't need to tell you that the one at Harvard is excellent," she says with a warm laugh. "You could take a year off to accumulate some of your volunteer hours, give yourself a chance to see if it's truly what you want to do," she advises.

"Thanks, Shelly," I reply. "I will think about it," I add before giving her a hug goodbye.

I meet Edward at his car a short while later and spend most of the ride home daydreaming.

"You're awfully quiet," Edward says, rubbing his hand up and down my thigh.

"Just thinking," I reply, looking over at him and putting my hand on his.

"About?"

"About what I want to do after graduation. I _think_ I know, but I'd rather be sure."

"Has it got something to do with volunteering with peds?" he asks, stealing a glimpse at me while keeping an eye on the road.

"Yeah, it does. How'd you know?"

"I think you're well-suited for it. You seem to be more fulfilled spending a few afternoons a week at the hospital than you do working on your thesis," he explains.

"You're right. I mean, I think you hit the nail on the head, actually. I can't remember the last time I came away from writing my thesis with a smile on my face," I reply, relieved to finally admit that I've probably been trying to pound a square peg through a round hole for some time now.

Edward just grabs my hand, lacing his fingers with mine as he lifts it to his lips for a kiss.

"But the kids at Brigham's make me smile everyday," I continue. "They make me laugh and they even make me cry…but I do feel more satisfied, like I have a purpose—even if it's just helping someone forget their problems for a few minutes."

"There's more to life than just going through the motions…following a certain path just because it's the one in front of you. Took me a while to figure that out myself," he says, smiling at me as he pulls up to our brownstone.

"Just shuffling along yourself, huh?"

"I was until I shuffled into you," he says with a grin, offering me his hand to help me out of the car.

"Shifty shuffler, you," I chuckle, wrinkling my nose at him.

"Shuffle with me upstairs," he teases, patting my behind.

"_Shurtainly_," I joke, winking at him.

"Come on, Curly," he urges, pulling me up the stoop.

We enjoy a nice, simple dinner at Edward's, and make our way to the bedroom, where we cuddle for a while before settling in for the night.

"Hey, you promised me a date this weekend. We're still on, right?" he asks as we curl up together.

"We're absolutely still on. You pick the place. I chose last time."

"The last time? You mean _Chez Henri_? To make up for forcing you to murder your own carton of Ben and Jerry's?"

"Yeah, that was a date. I guess. Wasn't it?" I ask, tilting my head.

"Sort of. More like a half, I suppose," he replies with a laugh.

"It was like a date with training wheels. Or a 'try before you buy,'" I suggest playfully, nodding my head.

"Did you get your money's worth?" he asks, cupping my chin with his fingers.

"I didn't pay anything. What does that tell you?" I ask rhetorically, raising an eyebrow at him.

"But I sold you on the idea, didn't I?" he asks back, looking slightly wounded.

"Yes, you did. With your penis."

"And you call me crude."

"You started it. You turned me crude with your crudités."

"You're comparing me to a skinny stalk of celery?"

"No, I just like where you dip it is all," I smirk.

"Is it possible for us to have a conversation that isn't rife with sexual connotation?" he sighs.

I have to burst out laughing at that. He's asking me the very question I used to ask him when we first met. The word 'ironic' doesn't even begin to describe this situation.

"The tables, Edward. They have turned."

"Turned when I turned you on?"

"Turned inside out, upside down. Every which way. And it's the best chaos. Ever," I say before leaning my face to his and stealing a very sweet kiss from his lips.

"Hmm, I would have to agree with that. So, now that we've established that you were sold you on the half-a-date, what about the entire enchilada? And please don't say you want me to stuff your burrito. Because I will anyway."

"The whole she-bang?" I quip with an obnoxious chuckle.

"Stop it already," he tells me, frowning and playfully squinting one eye at me.

"Oh, alright. Killjoy," I reply, pursing my lips at him. "Let's go Saturday. Alice and Rose want to hang out on Friday. Something about doing a group night out. I've been avoiding it," I say with a sigh.

"How come? I thought you like hanging out with them."

"I do, but they always want to go to loud parties with drunken co-eds and stale beer and cigarette butts everywhere. I'd suggest something else if I could think of anything."

"Hmm. Well, I'm a bar or pub kind of person, mostly. I do play a mean game of pool, too," he muses.

"Oh God, no pool. I almost took someone's eye out the last time. The girls refuse to take me."

"Okay. I guess darts is out too then."

"Most. Definitely," I say with certainty.

"When my mom was alive, she'd take me candlepin bowling. That was fun. And no danger of killing or maiming others. There must be an alley in Cambridge somewhere," he suggests.

Hearing him say that, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I love that Edward's mentioning his mom to me without me asking about it. I love that he can think back about something that made him happy. And that he wants to go back to that…with me? That really makes me want to cry. I want to talk more about it, but decide to leave it be. He offered something I didn't ask about, and that's plenty.

"That does sound like fun, actually. I'll tell Alice and Rose about it," I say with a smile.

"I'll make sure they put up the bumper rails for you. And you should probably wear duck boots instead of bowling shoes. Better traction," he advises, winking at me.

"Oh, you're hilarious," I answer back, scrunching up my mouth at him.

"So, a whole date on Saturday night?" he asks again, rubbing my backside.

"A whole date. You pick. I go," I confirm.

"Excellent."

"You look tired," I tell him, sweeping his hair away from his face before kissing his forehead.

"Mmm, yeah," he says, his mouth forming a wide yawn. He laughs when I cover it for him with my hand. "Sorry," he says, kissing my palm.

"It's okay. Hard work bringing those peanut babies into the world."

"You remember that? The baby I named 'peanut?'" he asks, rubbing his thumb against the spot he just kissed.

"Edward," I say, rolling my eyes playfully, "girls don't forget stories like that. They're too adorable. Makes _you_ too adorable. As if you needed the encouragement."

"Can't be helped, Brown Eyes. You bring out the worst of the best in me," he replies, placing my hand on his chest.

"How about me? What do you bring out?" I ask.

"Hopefully…only the best of the worst," he replies with heavy innuendo, running his fingers through my hair. I hum a giggle and yawn lightly.

"And thank you, by the way, for letting me occupy a little bit of the space up here," he adds, tapping my temple with his fingertip. I guess he appreciates me thinking about him, which is sort of absurd because I often can't stop thinking about him, even if I try my damndest.

"And in here," I say, taking his hand and patting my heart with it. He looks down at me and smiles. I give him a look and then squint my eyes at him. "Just say it. You know you want to!" I accuse.

"And down here," he says with a laugh, resting his palm on the crotch of my panties.

"Good night, sweet swine, and flights of floozies sing thee to thy rest," I murmur.

"Good night, your parting shot is such sweet sorrow," he murmurs back.

"I love you, Edward."

"I love you, Brown Eyes."

And while the mental image of Edward holding a peanut baby should scare me more than the loudest Phoenix thunderstorm, all it really does is lull me to sleep with a smile on my face.

That Friday evening, I meet up with Alice and Rose to take the red line up to Alewife, where the bowling alley is just a short walk away. Edward is driving straight from work, while Emmett and Jasper plan on carpooling from campus after their classes are over.

"So, Bella," Alice says, hanging on to the railing in front of her as the subway chugs along, "how's everything going with you and Dr. Love?"

"You freaks finally say out loud what everyone else already knew," Rose says as she takes a sits on the cushioned seat next to me. I never stand on a moving subway. It's just a bad idea.

"Thank God for that," Alice replies, shaking her head. "You guys were like the fakest fake couple. So fake, you were real."

"That doesn't even make sense, Alice," I inform her, shoving my hands in my coat pocket and looking away from her.

"Exactly. Made no sense at all. Except now it does. Because you finally realized he's the guy for you, even though you didn't have any idea there _was_ a guy for you. And he got it through his sexy-beast skull that you are the girl he's always wanted, even though he never really knew _what_ he wanted," she blathers incoherently.

"That's totally what happened!" Rose exclaims, with her gloved hand outstretched toward Alice.

"See. I knew it would work out," Alice says with an air of confidence.

I just smack my forehead. Like these two are the type you go to for relationship advice.

A short while later, the six of us are crammed into a corner lane in a very dimly lit and musty bowling alley. It's been years since I've attempted bowling, and I don't think I've ever knocked down a single pin. But I try not to care—wounds to my pride notwithstanding. Edward is in his element, joking with Emmett and Jasper, and getting that small, round wooden ball to skim across the polished wooden floor like a stone skipping a still pond. The little red and white pins have no choice but give in and all tumble down in heap, over and over.

"You're so good at this," I say, situating myself on his lap after he takes his turn.

"It's all in the wrist, Brown Eyes. A game of skill, not strength."

Thoughts of Edward's hand as he waves it in front of my face, flicking his wrist to and fro, makes me think of nothing that has anything to do with bowling. Nothing at all.

"You just love a _full rack_, Edward. Don't lie," I tease. He puts his hand against the side of my neck and pulls me into him. I can't resist and sniff the spot behind his ear, where I can smell his shampoo mixed with manly-man. I pepper it with some kisses for good measure.

"Mmhmm. Yours especially. And I love your _box_," he whispers, putting his hands on my waist and pivoting me so that I turn to face him, my legs straddled on either side of his. He gives my backside a little swat and asks if I like that kind of _backdoor strike_. Why, yes. Yes, I do.

"You want me _spread eagle_, baby?" I moan in his ear.

"_Glung…glung_," he groans, pulling my face to his and kissing me deeply. I just can't help myself and go a little _glung glung _myself, giving him a long, deep kiss and rubbing up on him like my life depended on it.

I suddenly get that weird feeling that we're being watched—as if people's eyes are literally boring into me. Edward and I turn toward the direction of the staring and notice four faces completely fixed on us. They belong to our four friends.

I try to squeak out a nervous laugh but Edward's bottom lip is stuck between my teeth, being stretched out and away from his mouth like a piece of warm salt-water taffy.

There's _PDA_ and then there's what we're doing. This is _PDDH_. _Public Display of Dry Humping_.

Our four bowling companions are looking at us with a mixture of amusement, shock…and mild disgust. Rose is dominating the market share on shock and disgust. All of a sudden, she smacks the back of Emmett's head.

"THAT!" she spits, pointing at Edward and me. "Why can't _you_ do that?"

"Do what, baby?" Emmett replies, looking bewildered. "Dry hump you? I do that all the time!" he protests. This was an unwise thing to do because she just whacks him again.

"That's not what I meant. Be all lovey-dovey and sweet and adorable. Look at the grin on Prunella's face!"

She's right. I am grinning like a fool. Edward does that to me.

"Yeah, he does make me smile," I sigh, resting my hand on his cheek and kissing him again.

I know there's something else I wanted to say, but I have to kiss Edward first. That takes priority.

"Don't call me 'Prunella,' Rose, you know I hate that," I say. I want to make a bigger fuss, but I have better lips to kiss.

"Oh em gee! So kwooooooooyt! And happeeeee!" Alice trills. I'd think she was being sarcastic if I didn't know her so well. Alice really does get that obnoxiously happy. "Look, Jazz, they're happy," she says, clapping her hands like an idiot.

"Stop saying 'haaaaappeee' like you have a head injury, Alice," I snort, scoffing at her.

"You're not exactly shitting rainbows yet, Bella. Clearly Edward has more work to do," Rose says, because her change purse full of two cents is never empty.

"Ugh. I hate you both," I reply as we put our coats on to leave.

Jasper mumbles a 'thanks a lot' to Edward, most likely in response to making the rest of the male species look so underwhelming in comparison to him. The men shake hands while Alice, Rose and I hug our goodbyes.

Edward and I step out into the chilly winter air toward his car when I notice him looking very preoccupied with his phone. It's as if he's trying to read something that demands a lot of his attention.

"Is everything okay?" I ask when I see his furrowed brow.

"Yeah, it's fine," he replies distractedly, still trying to walk and read at the same time.

"Something about a patient? I can catch a ride with the others if you need to go to the hospital," I offer, getting worried.

"No. It can wait until tomorrow," he answers. "Yeah, it's a patient. Not mine though," he explains cryptically.

"Not yours?" I repeat back, confused. "Is it someone you know?"

"My grandmother. She had a mild heart attack, but she's alright. They moved her to Brigham's."

**

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DUN DUN DUN! Yes! I actually left a chapter at a cliffy that is DUN DUN DUN worthy.**

**Tune in next time, same TNGUS time, same TNGUS channel.**

**Oh and about candlepin bowling. Those phrases/terms really exist in the game. Are you kidding? I'm not smart enough to make that shit up.  
_full rack:_ when all the pins are assembled/still standing  
_box:_ the area in which the pins are placed  
_backdoor strike:_ a strike in which the '1' pin is the last to fall  
_spread eagle:_ a type of split that results when there are still some pins remaining  
_glung glung_:slang for the sound the pins make when they're knocked down**

**Thanks, and see you next time. ::MWAH::**


	22. Chapter 22

**Hello and welcome back to the TNGUS Super Happy Fun Time Hour. Remember Happy Fun Ball on SNL? If you're too young, just know that I hate you. Okay, I don't hate you. I just covet your perky, youthful appearance and positive outlook on life.**

**I'm rambling. Like an old person.**

**Thank you so much for your reviews, as per usual. I try to answer as many as time permits but something tells me you'd rather read more TNGUS SHFTH than a review reply. Amirite? Oh, and a warm welcome to all the newcomers. Thank you kindly for reading this little bit of nonsense!**

**Thank you to my beta, Nina, aka WriteOnTime. I'm Gilda Radner, she's Jane Curtin. She's the Prymaat Conehead to my Emily Litella.**

**Huge hugs and gratitude to my dear friend, Ser, aka LittleSecret84. She talks me down when I'm all squirrely and weirrrrrrrd. I love you like Fifty loves to dole out the spanks, bb.**

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I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

**TNGUSPOV**

The drive home from the bowling alley is quiet. I know Bella wants to talk about my grandmother—ask me if she's going to be okay, if I plan on going to visit her. But frankly, I'm just not ready to hash it all out just yet. Right now, I'm just focusing on her health. More specifically, I'm approaching this as I would a physician: reading her chart, consulting with the cardiologist, and making all of her medical decisions. I can do all of that using my phone. I don't need to see her.

Moving my grandmother to Boston was a decision I made based on convenience. My attorneys, accountants, and everyone else related to the trust I inherited were all here. I visited with her a few times when my schedule permitted, but as time went on, my visits became few and far between. Honestly, I can't even remember the last time I saw her.

Bella and I are back in my apartment, where she sits on the couch with her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around her calves. I hand her a glass of wine, and then pour myself a scotch. I think if there's ever a time that calls for a drink, this is one of them.

"I hate this awkward silence," she says. "Sorry, but I had to say something," she laughs, her anxiety obvious. She stops wringing her hands long enough to grab her wine glass and take a long sip.

"I know you want to talk about it. And I'm glad you gave me some time to think," I reply, taking a generous swallow of scotch that burns the whole way down.

"We don't have to talk about it. At all. You know I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. It's just…you _promise_ not to get mad?" she asks, her lips pulled tight, her expression tense.

"Why would I get mad?" I ask, feeling perplexed.

I genuinely don't understand why she becomes reluctant to speak her mind to me at certain times. I hate when things between us get like this. I want the tension in the air to dissipate so she can be less anxious, less tentative. I want to know what she's thinking—good, bad, or indifferent.

"You know," she begins hesitantly, "back to feeling blindfolded. Don't know what will happen after the words come out," she adds in a small voice.

I don't want her to hold back. It's not as if I don't want to hear what she has to say, in fact, it's quite the opposite.

"What do you mean?" I ask, hoping she'll explain more. "What kind of words?"

"Don't want to say anything that will stir up bad memories. Don't want you upset at me because you're just upset in general. I don't know. I guess I'm not making any sense," she confesses with a nervous laugh. "I'm just…scared, Edward. I know as much about having a boyfriend as you know about girlfriends. We're both a little out of our element, I think," she explains, her brow creased with worry.

I really hate the idea that she'd expect me to be upset at her for any of this. She's not responsible for what happened. I can logically separate the way the _conversation_ makes me feel from how I feel about _her_.

"Yeah, I guess you're right about that," I say before taking another generous sip of my whiskey. "But we don't have to overcomplicate this, do we?" I ask, running my hand through my hair. "It's just…_I just_ know that I love you. I would never hurt you, not deliberately," I tell her, stroking her cheek.

"I know you wouldn't," she says, her lips curling up into a weak smile.

"Then why would I get mad at you for talking to me? There have been moments when you're about to say something to me, and you get this scared look on your face. It makes me think you're frightened…of _me_. And I don't like that. I don't like making you feel that way. Not one bit, Brown Eyes," I tell her, putting down my scotch and taking both her hands in mine.

"Okay. I'll try to have more faith in you. To believe that I can talk to you, no matter what," she replies, her smile getting bigger. She curls her fingers around mine, giving them an affectionate squeeze to show that she means what she's saying.

"Good. It's probably not reasonable to expect that we'd never fight…but if you're willing to talk to me, I'm willing to talk to you," I tell her, putting her hand to my lips and kissing it.

Every time Brown Eyes asks me to trust her, I do. And so far, she hasn't given me any reason to regret it or to stop. Why should I now?

"I love you," she whispers.

"I love you, too." I reply. "Now what is it you wanted to say?" I ask, lifting her chin with my index finger.

"She's your grandmother, Edward," she whispers, her expression serious.

"I know she is. But she's also pretty much a stranger to me. And because of her dementia, I'm a stranger to her," I explain with a shrug of my shoulder.

We sit in silence for a few minutes as Bella looks at me expectantly.

"Brown Eyes, I hardly knew my grandmother, even when she was well. I can't pretend there's a relationship there when there isn't," I add, hoping that if she understands where I am coming from, she won't judge me harshly. The last thing I want is for her to think less of me over all this. I know she doesn't now and I'm not about to give her any cause to start.

"I know. That just wouldn't be a natural way to feel. But you can try to move forward. I think it might help you more than anything. I'm not saying you don't have a right to be mad or upset at how your grandparents acted. Shit, I don't even know them and it makes me mad," she says, indignantly jutting out her chin.

"I can't just forget…and I don't really want to," I say with a frown. Whatever happened between my mom and her parents, it couldn't have been anything less than horrible. When they hurt her, they hurt me. I loved my mother. Her pain was my pain, and I still carry it with me, even after all these years—no matter how much I tried to ignore it.

"Edward, you once said something to me that often pops into my head, because, well, it was a really profound and thoughtful thing to say," she tells me with a sweet smile. "You said 'no one's all good or all bad. People are just who they are.' You should remember that when you think about your grandmother. I mean, I'm not saying what she did or didn't do was right, just that maybe she's not all bad—that cutting her off completely isn't what you should do. That's all I'm trying to say," she elaborates, resting her head in her hand.

She studies me for a moment, her expression soft with compassion. She presses her small palm to my cheek before she speaks again.

"Edward, after I lost my dad, for weeks I'd wake up and think 'oh that's right, he's gone.' It took forever just for my brain to absorb it. Feelings of loss…hurt…it was hard for me to move past them. But they started to fade over time. And that's when I realized that I could still miss him, still wish he was around, but also be happy, or at least want to be," she explains, moving closer to me and squeezing herself between my arm and my torso.

"You make me happy," I tell her, softly kissing her lips.

"And you make me happy, too. But what I'm trying to say is…I think you can accept your past without making it change you or force you to be 'stuck' feeling miserable or angry," she explains, playing with my hand in earnest. She rubs my palm with her thumbs, then starts massaging my pinky. It's odd the way her nervous habit actually relaxes me more than it does her.

"I see what you're saying, I really do. I mean, I guess I never really thought about it. Just wanted to avoid the whole thing. Thank God for college, med school. I just buried myself in work," I confess.

"You don't have to avoid it to move on. That's all I mean," she replies, her voice and words a source of comfort and soothing.

I nod and think about our conversation. Being with Bella makes me happier—no more, than that—being with her makes me more fulfilled than I've been in a long time, perhaps ever. There isn't any reason for my past to jeopardize the contentment our relationship gives to me.

"But what difference would it make for me to see her? It won't change my relationship with her," I question.

"No, but you might feel better knowing you did the right thing," she replies, her head slightly tilted toward me.

"What do you mean?"

She takes another deep breath and a flash of sadness crosses her face.

"I know a lot about wishing you could turn back time. About wanting one more chance to see or talk to someone but you can't…because they're gone. You must get that feeling, you know, because of your mom. I do too, because of my dad. So, maybe by seeing your grandmother, you won't get that feeling about her too when she's gone."

I purse my lips and nod again. I see her point entirely. I want to be able to walk away from this with a clear conscience, to know that I conducted myself with integrity and pride. Seeing my grandmother is the honorable thing to do.

"You're right," I reply, hugging her small frame to me. Her warm body and steady breathing calm me. I kiss the top of hair and close my eyes to focus on the peace I feel when she pats my chest lightly. It does the job a hell of a lot better than a glass of scotch.

"I can go see her first, if that will make it easier," she suggests in a quiet voice. "You know, see how she's doing. If she's in a lot of pain or looking too frail, you might want to wait until she's feeling better," she offers. I nod my head in agreement. I think that would be better. Bella wants to help make this easier and I appreciate it. But I have to wonder why she wants to involve herself when she doesn't have to.

"Are you sure you want to meet her? You don't have to get involved…" I start to say, but she interrupts me.

"Yes. I'm sure," she says quickly. "I want to meet her," she states, her mind presumably made up. I rub her cheek with the back of my fingers as she continues speaking.

"I love you, and…I want to know what made you the person you are. And for better or worse, your grandmother is part of that. Without her, I wouldn't have you. I don't need to like her, but I can respect her enough to meet her, maybe keep her company, even if it's just for a few minutes," she explains as she fiddles with my index finger.

I'm suddenly hit with a pang of guilt. Here's this woman who offers so much of herself to me, so selflessly. What do I possibly do to deserve it? I know she loves me, but have I earned it? Is this like all that money I inherited—a windfall that came from nowhere?

"Brown Eyes…you hate when I say this, but…I don't deserve you. I don't know what it is I offer you that measures up to what you offer me," I confess softly. Her frown appears instantly and she huffs at me in irritation.

"Edward, you give me so much more than you know. I'm not talking about the lessons and any of the physical stuff. So stop right there," she says, covering my mouth with her hand before I can protest.

"Look," she begins, taking a deep breath. "I'm _not_ someone like Alice—you know, an eternal optimist or just happy all the time. I don't think I'll ever be one of those people….you know the kind, with a perfect life and everything 'just so.' But…being with you, it's the closest to perfect I've ever felt. You give me so much. Don't forget that," she says, pressing her cheek to mine "Please," she whispers in my ear.

"I won't," I whisper back. She holds my face in her hands and kisses me softly.

"I have so much, Edward…because you gave it to me. A whole world exists that I never knew about. A place where I have a lover, a friend…_even_ a pain in the ass," she adds with a laugh and a nod of her head.

"I never get a compliment that isn't mixed with a sharp jab of some kind. It's amazing," I say with an incredulous laugh.

"Okay, I'll be serious," she says in an absurd baritone as she presses our faces nose-to-nose, her big eyes looking into mine. "I seriously love you, Smoosher."

"You sound like Edward R. Murrow," I tease with a smirk.

"Edward are my morrow and my today. Everyday. And every tomorrow," she tells me.

"Good night and good luck?" I ask, quoting the famous newsman's ubiquitous closing phrase.

"Great night to get lucky. Every night," she muses, her lips pursed as she thinks. "He sees the person I am, and hangs around anyway," she adds with a giggle.

"Well, the getting lucky part is a nice incentive, Brown Eyes. I cannot tell a lie," I say in stern voice.

"Oh, you're George Washington now?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

"I, uh, did away with your cherry with my…tree, didn't I?"

"Stop making me not want to tell you why exactly I love you and just be quiet, Dr. Yappy," she chastises.

"You're the one who started it with the 'getting lucky' talk, Brown Eyes. I refuse to kowtow to your blame-shifting ways."

"You know what? I'm going to take off my panties just to gag you with them."

"Oh God, you promise?" I blurt, my entire body sitting bolt-upright, including my dick.

"Shut. Up."

"I'm sorry, sweet girl who loves to wound my ego but for some very perverted reason, wants me to chew on her thong," I say while laughing uproariously. It's extremely difficult to speak and laugh so hard, especially when Bella is trying to karate-chop me in the arm.

"I didn't say 'chew' on my panties. Gross," she snaps even though she's laughing too. "You probably would, too, like a piece of Hubba Bubba."

"Nothing sweeter than a piece of your _hubba hubba_," I say, biting my bottom lip squeezing her ass for emphasis.

"Okay, I'm just gonna motor through this because it's obvious you have no intention of letting up," she says with a playful scowl. "Edward, I love you because, just like you're doing now—you drive me completely crazy—but you make me _so_ happy," she says, her eyes full of life as the words tumble out of her. "You want to know why?" she asks. I nod at her eagerly. I feel like the kid I once was all of a sudden. Like it's my birthday and my mom has surprised me with pancakes in bed for breakfast.

"Sometimes, you laugh at me when I'm mad and it makes me forget what I was pissed off about in the first place," she says, smiling broadly.

"And you make me feel pretty, and…sexy," she tells me, her expression coy, beautiful, and extremely fucking sensual. I can't help myself so I steal a kiss after she says that.

"If I hadn't met you, I wouldn't be volunteering at the hospital, and thinking about which direction my life really should be going in," she adds.

"In fact, if I hadn't met you, I'd be in a pretty lonely, empty place right now," she confesses, her tone serious as she massages the space between my thumb and index finger. "So, that's why I love you. And that's why you deserve it," she adds with a light shrug of her shoulder while inspecting lines on my palm.

"Thank you, Brown Eyes," I whisper. "Hey, I was wondering…if it's okay with you, can we have our first 'real' date…right now?"

"Um, sure, why not?" she replies with a sweet smile. "I could change really quickly, but it's kinda late. Do any restaurants have kitchens still open at this hour? Maybe a diner? I don't mind," she offers, being so sweetly agreeable and easygoing, I could kiss her again and again.

"Actually, I was thinking, we could have it…here?" I ask anxiously, feeling absurdly nervous all of a sudden.

When it comes to Brown Eyes, I find myself tongue-tied and awkward where I used to be fully-confident, cocky, and pretty fucking sure of myself. I was used to women eating out of my hand. But then again, their rejection would mean nothing…because I offered nothing more than a few hours of physical proximity. They never said 'no,' but I'm not sure I would have cared if they had. I think that's my predicament with Bella. There's so much at stake. Her 'no' would fuel a kind of disappointment I wouldn't really know what to do with.

"You want to stay in?" she asks with a broad smile.

"Is that alright? We can wait until tomorrow if you like," I offer tentatively.

"No. I actually love this idea," she says, hugging me. "I'll go downstairs to wash up. Would you like me to make anything?"

"Yes. Pack a picnic," I suggest.

"Okay, but it's colder than a witch's tit out there," she replies with a wry laugh.

"Not to worry, Brown Eyes. Your very molestable Arizonian backside will remain at room temperature. Well, it may get hotter, if I have anything to say about it," I tell her with a raised eyebrow.

"Edward, I badly want to chastise you for that…maybe I will make use of that leather paddle in the gift basket my friends gave me," she warns, giving me that side-eye of hers that doesn't at all have its _intended_ effect.

I close my eyes and swallow slowly. I'm half-tempted to beg her to promise, but I don't want to push my luck.

"Go downstairs before I can't restrain myself any longer, Brown Eyes," I say with a heavy sigh. With a slight shrug of her shoulders, she heads downstairs while I get the apartment ready.

The things Bella said about revisiting the past without letting it drag me down really resonated with me. Perhaps a person can change their past—fix the things that went wrong as best as they can. And I'd like to try that now, with her. I hope she likes the small surprise I have in store. I manage to get everything done fairly quickly even though I only have a few minutes to spare by the time she comes back upstairs and knocks.

I open the door and smile at her happy face. She's looking adorably sexy in a little melon-colored camisole and matching shorts. She looks more like a dessert than a person, and I'm more than completely okay with that.

"Hello neighbor," she says with a smile, carrying a picnic basket with both hands.

"Come in, it's drafty in the hallway," I say, stealing a small gawk at her chest. It's not easy to ignore because of what happens to it in the cold air. Two little raised points against the silky material of her top are practically poking through and I have a difficult time tearing my gaze away.

"Edward, my eyes are up…" she starts to say, but when she notices the way I decorated the living room, she stops talking and lets out a small gasp. She turns and looks at me, her expression changing from shocked to beaming.

"You like it?" I ask.

"I can't…it's…_you built me a fort_," she says, hugging me tightly. "And there isn't even a thunderstorm."

"Nope, no thunderstorm—but we can make our own noise," I say with a wink. "What do you think? Did I do a good job?" I ask, hoping she's adequately impressed.

"Are you kidding?" she asks back with a grin. "It's amazing. This is better than the one I built last time. What made you want to do this?" she asks, grazing her hand along the sheets draped over the chairs and I assembled like tent poles around the room.

"Well, it just popped into my head, really. That night the power went out, and I kissed you…I kind of want to try and experience that night with you over again. I want a second chance to make you feel special instead of embarrassed or awkward."

Perhaps at the time, it was for the best that I stopped and pulled away when I first kissed Brown Eyes, but I don't like the way doing that made her feel. I want to go back and fix that.

"You…once again prove to me how you really are the sweetest swine I've ever met," she tells me, biting her lip and stroking my cheek.

"Look, you even made a fire! Out of?" she questions, kneeling down to take a closer look. "Candy and pretzels?" she asks with a chuckle.

"Don't take this the wrong way," I explain, using my best 'soothing' voice, "but loose bed linens everywhere plus Brown Eyes _plus_ open flames? Maybe not the best idea." She frowns at me at first before her face makes that completely adorable little scrunch and she laughs loudly.

"I'd be offended," she tells me as she takes a bite of a pretzel, "if this wasn't all so 'over the top' thoughtful and cool of you," she concludes.

"Hey, don't eat the fire, I haven't even looked in your pic-a-nic basket, Boo-Boo."

"Oh you've seen my basket a-plenty, Yogi."

"Yet more sex jokes, it's like déjà vu all over again," I say as we sit down inside our fort to eat, our legs crossed Indian-style.

"Wrong Yogi. But point well taken," she answers, handing me a sandwich wrapped in a napkin.

"Would you mind if read something to you?" I ask as we eat our meal.

"Not at all," she replies between bites of her sandwich.

"I grabbed this book the other day to read at work during break. It's Oliver Wendell Holmes—the elder one anyway, not the jurist. He was a physician and wrote in his spare time. But I was flipping through it and came across a quote that made me smile," I explain, lifting the small book I left next to the makeshift 'campfire.'

"Well, Wendell, I'm waiting," she says impatiently despite her smile.

I open the page to where I stuck a little sticky note to keep my place and read the passage I underlined with my pencil aloud to her.

'_A woman fascinates a man quite as often by what she overlooks as by what she sees. Love prefers twilight to daylight; and a man doesn't think much of, nor care much for, a woman outside of his household, unless he can couple the idea of love, past, present, or future, with her.'_

"Edward, that's the most romantic thing anyone has ever read to me. You don't do stuff in small measure, do you?" she asks, fanning her face with her napkin, presumably in an effort to keep from choking up.

She puts her food down and takes me a little by surprise when she literally pounces on me, forcing me to lie flat on my back with her on top of me.

"Does your love prefer twilight to daylight, Brown Eyes?" I ask her.

"My love prefers yours twenty-four hours a day," she begins, kissing my neck, "seven days a week," she adds, leaving light pecks along my jaw, "twelve months a year," she concludes, her lips hovering over mine.

"I'll take that _do-over_ kiss now, Wendell," she teases.

"You got it, Holmes," I tease back, my hands greedily running up and down her backside.

I lift my head slightly and kiss her with everything I've got, cupping her face in my hands and pulling her mouth to me as close as I can get it. I want this kiss to convey every last bit of affection I never thought I had, every last iota of caring I was sure I lacked, every last morsel of tenderness I believed I was devoid of. She charmed all of that out of me, and I want her to feel every single bit of it.

"I really feel like one of your harem hoochies now in this big tent. It's like we're in our own little canopied love shack in the desert, and I'm rolling around the sheets with my chic Sheik," she murmurs.

"Your heart's wish is my command, fair concubine of mine," I reply, lifting her camisole over her head.

"I want to you to bed me, my beguiling, beautiful Bedouin," she coos suggestively. I shift us over so that she's lying on her back, her body underneath mine.

We make love slowly inside our little fort made of bed linens. I caress her gently as I leave a trail of wet kisses down from her chin to her pelvis, taking the time to softly bite and nibble her creamy chocolate-scented skin. Licking and sucking between her legs rewards me with the beautiful sight of her delicate body arching and tensing, before finally going limp and supple again.

With her urging, I lie on top of her again fill her body slowly, paying attention to every small gasp, moan, and coo. I listen to all of them, storing their sounds away in my memory for when I'm away from her and need something to think about before I get to see her again. I wait and hold off as long as I can because the more I tease, and fondle, and stroke, the louder the sounds become.

"God, sweet girl, I love you," I whisper as I spill into her.

"I love you, too," she moans, her body shuddering under mine.

I wrap us both in a soft cocoon of blankets and envelope her small frame in my arms. And in this moment, just being ourselves, I can't help but feel like the _real_ Edward I was always supposed to be. With my brown-eyed Bella at my side, she can help me to navigate through the past that doesn't have to haunt me any longer.

**

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DUN DUN DUN! I know, I know. Not exactly a cliffy, but a lot was talked about. Bella needs to help this poor guy with his issues for a little bit before we meet Grandmama.**

**Thank you for joining me. More TNGUSPOV in the next chapter.**

**::MWAH::**

**p.s. It's Happy Fun Ball! DO NOT TAUNT HAPPY FUN BALL.**

**www(dot)nbc(dot)com / saturday-night-live / video / clips / happy-fun-ball / 229058 /**


	23. Chapter 23

**Hello, friend. Thank you for joining me once again. **

**I apologize for the long wait. My kids were all sick, and then of course, I caught whatever bubonic plague they were coughing and wheezing all over me. The result was a severe head cold and ear infection that put me out of commission for while.**

**Huge thanks to my beta Nina, aka WriteOnTime, who despite having tons going on IRL, makes time for me. She's the peanuts in my Chicken Pad Thai.**

**Thanks also to DragonsExist, my partner in crime. And my gratitude to Marzy, my other half.**

**Writing part of this chapter reminded me of my friends Imdominating and coxie because they're big fans of The Fab Four.**

**Once again, this is TNGUSPOV.

* * *

**

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

I nervously tap my foot against the leg of the small coffee table in front of me as I sit in the waiting area outside my grandmother's hospital room. Bella emerges from the room across the hall and takes a seat next to me. She rubs my thigh, willing it to relax and stop its anxious tapping.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly, keeping her hand on my thigh.

"Yeah. I was just looking through her chart on my phone. Her cardiologist called too, said he saw her during his rounds. All the tests show that it was a mild heart attack with no permanent damage," I reply, somewhat perfunctorily. I furrow my brow before speaking again. "Is she…does she look?" I try to ask, but my voice trails off.

"She's actually very sweet," Bella says in a soft voice. "I don't know if you'd find that hard to believe or not. I did, at first," she confesses. "A little frail, but when I sat with her, she just smiled at me. She even reached over and patted my hand."

To say I'm surprised by this is an understatement. My grandmother, as I remembered her, was a rather stoic, unemotional, and very guarded person. To hear her being described as sweet and cheerful didn't sound right at all. But I suspect that the Alzheimer's had altered her personality—made her more docile, which is often the case with many of those afflicted with the disease.

"She, um, looks like you," Bella says with a small smile. "I liked seeing that," she adds with a tilt of her head. She reaches over and runs her fingers through the hair near my temple.

"Actually, I look more like my grandfather. Same eyes and hair," I say, gesturing at the wild mess on top of my head with my finger.

"Well, I saw a resemblance," she replies, leaning closer to me and inspecting my face. "The smile, especially," she adds, cupping my chin with her palm and stroking my cheek with her thumb.

"Was she able to speak at all?" I ask, wondering if my grandmother's dementia had progressed that far at this point.

"Yes, but," she begins before clearing her voice and sitting up slightly. "Let me back up before I get to that. The nurse explained a little about her, um, 'level of awareness,' I guess. It's not very good. She can talk but…not a whole lot of it makes very much sense. Her mood, though, you know—her spirits—are good. Like I said, she was happy to have company," she explains.

"Okay. This isn't really anything I didn't expect. Frankly, it's not as bad as I thought," I say, letting out a deep breath.

"I should probably explain a bit more, though, before you go see her," Bella says, getting noticeably nervous.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask, sensing her discomfort.

"Um, I want to tell you this first so you can decide whether it's something you're prepared to hear or not. If it isn't, maybe you shouldn't see her," she offers, absent-mindedly playing with my pinky finger.

"Brown Eyes, what is it?" I ask, leaning into her.

"She kept calling me 'Libby.' She, uh, thought I was your mom," she explains, biting her lip. "The nurse told me she mistakes any young woman for your mom and calls her Libby."

Part of me feels like bolting right out of this building and not coming back until my grandmother is discharged. It's the part of me that feels better off not bothering with any of this—with keeping my past dead and buried. Yet, there really is no such concept as 'dead and buried' when I'm still haunted by pangs of remorse and guilt over things I had no control over.

If I'm serious about moving on and being the person I was always meant to be, that means dealing with this instead of trying to ignore it. Finding what I have with Bella has made me realize just how distant and aloof I was from everyone and everything, and I don't want to be that guy anymore.

"Did she say anything else?" I ask, willing myself to listen to what I might not especially want to hear.

"No, she'd look at me and say 'Libby, you're back. I've missed you,' and I'd correct her, tell her my real name, but then after a few minutes, she'd say it over again."

"It's not uncommon. Essentially her memory is limited to what's stored in the very long term. Anything more recent is gone. Visually, she remembers my mother as a young woman but any young woman would stir up a reminder, since her recollection is so vague," I explain.

"But she remembers your mom leaving. That's pretty specific," Bella says, no doubt wondering why my grandmother's memory seems inconsistent.

"Memories of events that were particularly emotional would linger the longest," I reply. "It follows logically that my mother's departure from my grandmother's life is one of those lingering memories," I add.

Bella nods her head and purses her lips. I put my arm around her and kiss her forehead.

"Thank you for doing that. For talking to her for me," I say.

Without Bella's guidance, none of this would be happening. I know that I need her, and I hope that doing this for me gives her something in return—that helping me through this will make me a better man for her.

"It was nothing, Edward," she answers.

"It was something to me," I offer.

"Do you always have to argue?" she says with a playful scowl before kissing me.

"Will you always kiss me when I do?" I ask with a smirk.

"If I must," she sighs, shrugging her shoulders.

"You know the saying, Brown Eyes. 'Charity begins with me,'" I say, pulling her closer to me.

"Are you tax deductible?" she asks, patting my chest and kissing my neck.

"No, but I find you _delectable,_" I tell her, lifting her chin up with my middle and index fingers. I steal a kiss while I'm at it.

"Don't start," she warns, glaring at me with feigned irritation. "Should we go in now? I can stay out here and wait, if that's easier," she offers.

"No, actually I prefer it if you come with me," I reply. I need her with me; I just can't go in there by myself.

"You got it," she replies as she pulls away from me and stands up.

I find myself altogether unmotivated to rise off the couch, so I stare at her sheepishly. My last minute reticence makes Brown Eyes frown at first, then smile.

"Come on, let's go," she urges. She leans down and kisses my nose.

"What was that for?" I ask.

"Your nose looked lonely," she explains, giving me the same answer she did the last time I asked her why she kissed my nose.

"Edward," she says, bending down to put her face close to mine. "It will be okay. Even if it's not okay at first, it will be," she promises in a small whisper. I look into her eyes, comforted by the sincerity in them.

She offers me her hand to stand me up, and I finally give myself the push I need to will myself out of my seat. I take Bella's hand before lacing it with my own as we make our way across the hall and into my grandmother's room.

"I'll go in ahead of you, so you can watch for a minute, if you like," Brown Eyes says, turning to face me as we stand in the doorframe. I look down and nod my head. She smiles at me and walks in. I slowly creep in behind her, standing behind the curtain around my grandmother's bed.

"Hi, again," I hear Bella say.

"Oh, is that you?" a familiar voice replies. It's my grandmother's, but softer, more subdued. She almost sounds sleepy.

"Yes, it's me," Bella answers in a sweet tone. I hear the creaking of a chair and assume that she's sat down in one of the chairs usually kept at every patient's bedside.

"I missed you, Libby. I'm glad you're here," my grandmother says. Her voice is tinged with sorrow and fatigue.

Something in my chest stirs at the sound of my mother's name; yet, my legs seem to move of their own accord. I allow them to pull me forward so that I can peer just beyond the fabric that obscures my view of the woman who, before a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have especially wanted to visit with.

My eyes are met with the sight of Brown Eyes holding the hand of a very frail looking elderly woman I barely recognize. Physically, she is a shell of who she once was—her body much thinner, eyes sunken, and cheeks gaunt. Bella is looking over at her with the same unconditional warmth I see her convey to the peds patients she works with. That humanity and grace is something I love so very much about her, and it bolsters me.

"Hello, grandmother," I say, approaching her bed. I lightly pat the part of her blanket that covers her foot; I greet every patient I visit during my rounds in this way.

Bella turns to me and smiles before motioning at me to sit in the chair next to her. As I sit, I notice my grandmother's eyes fixed on me, staring at me blankly. She has no idea who I am.

"She doesn't recognize me," I say. "I don't think she understood me when I called her 'grandmother,'" I say, lowering my voice so that only Bella can hear me. "The last time I saw her, I kept having to remind her who I was. She'd say 'oh yes' but would look at me funny when I called her 'grandmother' a few minutes later," I explain. She nods her head in understanding.

"Edward," my grandmother says surreptitiously, breaking the silence that took over the room for a few minutes. My eyes snap up to her face, which has broken into a wide smile.

"Yes," Bella says. "It's Edward," she repeats, gesturing at me. My grandmother's eyes move to Bella and light up in recognition again.

"Libby!" my grandmother gasps. "Edward, you brought Libby back. I knew you would. Libby, where's the baby? I told Edward to bring you and the baby home to me," she adds. Her face goes calm and she turns her head to stare out the window, her mind obviously clouded.

A knot forms in my stomach when I realize what's happened. My grandmother has mistaken me for _Edward Masen_, my grandfather. Of course she would; I look so much like him.

"What does she mean?" Bella asks, looking over at me.

"She's got me confused with my grandfather. His name was Edward. I'm named after him—a family tradition," I reply. I swallow hard in an effort to stay focused and not look for an excuse to leave the room. Bella's eyes go wide like saucers as she almost instinctively reaches for my hands and squeezes them tightly.

"Edward, _love_," Bella says gently as she leans her face into mine. "You can see that your grandmother is okay. She's sick, but not doing any worse than you expected. She's happy, comfortable. You've done the right thing coming here, and we can go now," she says, pointing at the door. "But if I were you," she continues, "I'd stay and listen. She might tell you something you'll never get another chance to hear before it's lost…for good," she explains.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. She's right. There are things stowed away in my grandmother's memory that are slowly eroding and disappearing—things related to my past, who I am and where I came from, that were never told to me.

Bella studies my face with a gentle expression. She strokes my cheek softly and smiles.

"It will be okay," she reaffirms.

"I knew you'd come back, Libby," my grandmother begins again. "And Edward, you brought her back home. I knew you would," she says, beaming at me and grasping my hand with both of hers.

I feel something akin to pity when I see the look in her eyes—she's so frail, her mind broken. The joy she feels is genuine, but the reasons why are completely misguided. It's as if she's subconsciously created a fantasy that absolves her of the deep regret that must have plagued her for years.

"Libby, where's the baby?" she asks Brown Eyes.

"Oh…um, the baby's sleeping," Bella explains, as if she's assuaging a small child. My grandmother simply smiles and nods, her demeanor very docile and easily placated.

"Edward, you brought Libby back," she repeats at me.

"Yes, she came back with me," I say, forcing my mouth into a smile.

"You shouldn't have told that boy what you told him, Edward. It was wrong. You broke Libby's heart," she tells me, her face clouded with sadness.

"What did he tell the boy?" Bella asks, looking over at me to gauge my reaction. I just nod. Much to my own surprise, my curiosity is piqued and I'd like to know what she's talking about.

"Edward, you shouldn't have sent Carlisle away," she says, still looking at me. "The baby needs a father," she adds, looking at me with a completely impotent anger only a sickly, elderly woman could convey.

"It's alright," Brown Eyes says, speaking in a soft, soothing voice. She pats my grandmother's hand. "I'm here now," she adds. My grandmother relaxes at Bella's calm voice and gentle touch. Once again, her gaze returns to somewhere in the distance and her mind takes her elsewhere.

Our attention shifts to the nurse who enters the room to check my grandmother's vitals.

"Hello," she says, cheerfully greeting us as she pushes her cart toward the other side of the bed. "I'm surprised she's still awake, usually she naps around this time of day," she adds. "How are you feeling, young lady?" she asks, carefully taking my grandmother's arm to wrap the blood pressure cuff around it. My grandmother doesn't reply, but merely displays that same docile, empty smile for the nurse.

"We should probably let her rest now," Bella suggests. Nodding my head, I stand and take Bella's hand in mine.

When I look over at my grandmother, I notice that her eyes have already begun to close. She's easily fatigued and it's obvious that even this short visit was taxing for her. We say good bye to the nurse and as I leave my grandmother's bedside, I gently pat that same spot on her blanket that I did when I walked into the room—but this time, it's by way of silently saying 'thank you.'

The second we walk out into the corridor, Bella pulls me into a tight embrace.

"I love you, Edward. So much," she tells me.

"I love you, too. So much," I repeat back to her.

We walk out to the car and decide to head home. Bella insists she wants to stay in tonight, saying that our 'real' first date was the night before, when I built her fort for her, and that going out to a fancy restaurant could never top that. I know she's also aware of how I'm really not feeling up to doing much except having a quiet meal at home, and she wants to offer a reason for us to do just that. We order-in some Thai food and eat at the table while the winter sun sets outside the brownstone.

"Thank you for coming with me today," I say, before taking a sip of beer to cool the intense heat from my spicy dinner. "For encouraging me to go," I add.

"You did the right thing. And I think it was pretty brave of you to do it," she replies, smiling gently.

"I don't feel brave. Just…oddly relieved, I think. Honestly, it was sad to see her so sick and fragile, but it helped me to let go a lot of the anger I was feeling toward her. It's a relief not to have to be quite so pissed off. And you were right about listening to what she had to say. Because…I wanted to know. I still want to know," I confess, expressing my need to figure out my past. Bella reaches for my hand and wraps her fingers around mine.

"I know you do," she replies, her face tender, sweet.

I'm buoyed by her earnest compassion and heartfelt desire to help me, and I feel the stress of the day seep out of me—thanks to Brown Eyes, a good meal, and a nice cold pint of beer.

"Hey," I begin, "why are you all the way over there?" I ask playfully, even though she's sitting right next to me.

"Oh, well, I'm all the way over here because no one invited me to sit on his lap while we eat. I don't get all presumptuous like _some people_ do, Edward," she jokes, smirking at me.

"I've learned not to make presumptions around you anymore, Brown Eyes. I'm always wrong," I say with heavy resignation as I pull her onto my lap. She kisses my cheek and opens her mouth when I feed her with my chopsticks.

"Oh, so you don't think I came up here so I could 'do you' like the first time I had dinner with you?" she asks, screwing up her mouth and laughing.

"Did you…want me to _do you_?" I growl in her ear. She turns her face to mine and furrows her brow.

"Does a pig oink?" she teases.

I don't answer; I simply make snorting sounds into her neck while she laughs loudly, my skin and warm breath tickling her.

"I'm happy…to see you happy, Edward," she tells me, stroking my cheek.

"Thanks. I like it when you're happy, too," I reply.

"Are you glad you know more now than you did before?" she asks, alluding to the small snippet of information my grandmother supplied to us earlier.

"Yeah, I am," I answer, nodding slowly.

We look at one another, and soon our smiles become infectious, and we're both grinning at one another.

"Your dad," Bella says, as her beautiful eyes, so full of life, look into mine. "His name is Carlisle."

"Carlisle Cullen," I say, almost to myself. "My father…has a name," I declare, the significance behind my words giving me a sense of satisfaction I truly hadn't expected.

"And his son is an amazing man," she murmurs, holding my face in her hands. "Beautiful, inside and out," she says softly, running her thumb over my lips.

After feeding Bella a generous portion of my bowl of ice cream for dessert, food suddenly becomes very secondary. We kiss and caress our way into the bedroom, and in the process, shed bits of clothing, one-by-one.

"Let me make you feel good, love," Bella whispers in my ear before sitting me down on the edge of the bed and kneeling in front of me. Leaning back on my palms, I watch her face as her mouth moves up and down around me. While it feels fantastic, it also helps my mind to go peacefully numb.

"Thank you, Brown Eyes," I tell her when she curls up next to me on the bed.

"Stop thanking me every five minutes," she kids, kissing my neck and playing with my chest hair.

"Can't help it. You do all kinds of nice things. Almost makes me worried. You're usually far more disagreeable," I tease.

"Oh yeah? Well, it's only because Dr. Slick has left the building," she teases back.

"Uh, thank ya, _thankyavuhrymuch_," I say, doing my best Elvis impersonation. Bella giggles loudly and smacks my chest.

"There you go thanking me again! Cut it out," she orders, waving her finger at me.

"And she's back. Never thought I'd see you again, Mistress. May I please have another?" I ask, grabbing her finger and nibbling on it.

"Have another what?"

"I'll take one of everything. I'm a bit greedy that way," I say with a laugh, shifting over so that I'm lying on top of her.

"In that case, help yourself," she coos.

And I do, until she moans and screams my name, over and over. We fall into a peaceful sleep eventually, with Bella underneath me, and my palm resting on her perfect, round breast.

The next several days pass quickly, as I am inundated with work at the hospital. At Bella's insistence, I do check up on my grandmother one last time before she's discharged and returned to her retirement home. Thankfully, she's asleep when I do. I quickly read through her chart, satisfied that her health is as good as it can be. I give her one last pat on her blanket before leaving her room, and promise myself to visit her at least once more before her illness claims her for good.

That Friday, Bella and I decide on dinner and DVD at my place. When I ask her what I can do to help, she just asks that I run a bath for her after dinner. I'm delighted to comply with anything that requires the removal of her clothing, and I happily take her up on her request.

Bella emerges from her warm, chocolate-scented bubble bath—the bubbles courtesy of me and an ingenious product called _Classic Fudge Cake_ that Brown Eyes had the very good sense to point out to me while looking online at whatever beauty-care items women love to preoccupy themselves with. I made a mental note of the name and ordered five bottles of it.

"Something smells edible in here," I purr as I grab hold of her little towel-encased body and wrap my arms around it. "Like a cake. It must be my birthday. Are you my gift?" I tease, flagrantly massaging her pert little ass and sticking my nose into her neck to sniff her up and down.

"Yes, I'm your present. And maybe I'll even stick around to be your future," she jokes, winking at me. She swats my hands away so she can take off her towel and get dressed.

_My future. With Brown Eyes in it. I think I like the sound of that._

"So, watch a movie?" she asks, pulling on her silky pajama top and snapping me out of my daydream.

"Uh, yeah. I was thinking about _Bladerunner_. It's a favorite of mine," I suggest.

"Sure," she replies with a cheerful smile as she bounces herself onto the bed.

As we watch a film I've seen countless times before, this is the first instance that I notice something slightly ironic—for a guy who's such a big Sci-fi enthusiast, and one whose favorite book is about robots that are so close to humans that they're nearly indistinguishable, I have lived a rather mechanical existence myself up until now.

I managed to live a life in which I was completely detached and would limit most interactions with others to such a small degree, that I could simply slip quietly away, unnoticed and without any lasting trace. I lived as I'd been conceived—unknown and belonging to no one in particular.

The gently sleeping form pressing against my chest helped me to change all that—she did it by simply being herself and offering me an opportunity to bond with another human being. She saw the man I was—smooth-talking, charming, flirtatious—yet, she was perceptive enough to also see something else, something that sparked her interest beyond the purely physical.

As I drift off to sleep, I think about how my world would be small, anesthetized, and indeed very mechanical, without her in it.

I wake a few short hours later to Bella shouting my name. I sit bolt upright, relieved that she's laying next to me just like she had been when I went to sleep. Only now, she's twisting her body back and forth, whimpering and out of breath.

"Brown Eyes," I say, rubbing her back to rouse her. "You're having a nightmare. Wake up," I add, gently shaking her now in an effort to get her to wake and calm down.

I turn and switch on the softly-muted lamp on my bedside table. Bella's eyes finally open; they're red from crying in her sleep. When she sees me, her hands snatch the front of my t-shirt, and she very nearly puts me in a choke-hold, she's hugging me so tightly.

"Edward!" she gasps into my shoulder, crying into my t-shirt.

"Hey, it was just a dream, whatever it was," I sooth, patting her back.

"Please don't leave me, Edward, please," she pleads, still sobbing.

"Leave you?" I ask, dumbfounded. "What put that idea in your head?" I wonder aloud, wiping her face with the hem of my t-shirt.

"I dreamt that you were standing in front of me, saying something…but when you talked, it was just sounds, noises I couldn't make out. I said 'I can't understand you,' but you just kept doing it. All of a sudden, you were gone. I blinked, and you weren't there anymore—even your place, everything—completely gone, empty," she chokes out, crying into her hand.

"No, I wouldn't, sweet girl," I chide, wrapping my arm around her. "Would never do that to you," I say before kissing her forehead. I lean over again to grab some tissues this time. Bella sits up and wipes her face, still looking at me as if she's seeing a ghost. The expression on her face is just killing me, so I pull her over to me, beckoning her to sit on my lap.

"Edward…I," she tries to say, obviously struggling to say what's on her mind.

"What?" I ask, stroking her cheek. She takes a minute to compose herself and gather her thoughts. She tilts her head and looks at me expectantly.

"I know that nothing's ever set in stone—that sometimes, things just don't work out. But all I ask, if it ever gets to that point for you," she forces out nervously, "please, Edward, _please_, don't just leave without talking to me," she adds, the last of it almost intelligible as she starts to cry again.

She mumbles an apology, and I'm about to employ my usual bear-hugging tactics when I figure out what must be the reason behind how this nightmare has managed to distress her so much. We've undoubtedly grown attached to one another, and this makes her apprehensive about what lies ahead.

I realize that part of what compounds this is the loss of her father. Reneé's chat with me on Thanksgiving about Bella's heartbreak suddenly comes to the forefront of my mind. His death was sudden, his departure unexpected. Her grief, while not fresh, still persists.

_She doesn't want me to be here one day and gone the next._

I've been so caught up in my dealing with my grandmother and all the issues related to my past, that I've haven't been paying proper attention to what _she_ needs from _me_, and I see that I ought to fix that as quickly as possible.

I'm not going anywhere. It's as simple as that. I love her. I've never loved a woman before—and while it's true that I have no basis for comparison, the fact that I'm not at all bothered by that is rather telling. No woman as ever held my attention for this long, let alone run circles around me like she has. I've never trusted a woman the way I trust her, and the way in which she's only shown me compassion and empathy in return just astounds me.

My happiness is only limited by how happy I can make her. It's the least I can do.

"Brown Eyes, I'm not going anywhere. I promise," I tell her, moving a lock of hair from her face.

"You don't have to promise," she protests, but the sad look on her face belies the sincerity of her words.

"Sure I do. Because I mean it. I really do promise. I could never just walk away, not when I know how I feel," I say, kissing her lips.

"Thank you," she replies, her face brightening and a smile forming on her lips.

"I love you," I say, kissing her hand.

"I love you, too," she replies, kissing my hand in return.

"You know," I begin, feeling slightly anxious but letting the words out nonetheless. "I want us to have a future together. What I mean is…I see this as a long-term thing, and I hope you do, too," I confess, hoping to God she agrees with me. I don't have to hope for long because she responds by grinning widely and nodding her head enthusiastically.

"Yes, I want that too," she says, before giving me a long, deep kiss.

"So, like I said—I'm not leaving anytime soon. Because frankly, Brown Eyes, I'm not going anywhere without my boobkies," I confess, feigning a grave expression before blatantly eyeing her chest for good measure, and I can't especially help it when I smack my lips together.

"And once again, a serious moment reduced to its lowest common denominator," she scolds, but she laughs in spite of her irritation.

"I'm good at fractions. And units of measurement…let's see, a pinch of _this_," I quip, pinching her backside, eliciting a soft squeak from her lips. "And a handful of _this_," I continue, cupping her supple breast in my hand.

"Oh, so _you're_ the cook, now, huh?" she accuses, giving me what she calls 'the stink eye,' but I only see something completely non-threatening and, in fact, quite beautiful.

"Yes. In fact, I'm going to make a meal out of you. Right now," I say with a smirk. I pat her pillow, motioning for her to lie back down.

"Let's see here, I have all kinds of delicious ingredients to work with," I tease, running my hand down her smooth leg and down to her foot. I kiss the same pinky toe I inspected all those months ago when she injured it moving into her apartment.

"_Bubblegum_ toes, my favorite," I say as she wiggles them for me. "Filet of _sole_," I add, tickling the bottom of her foot so I can hear her laugh.

"Tender _leg of lamb_," I murmur as I lightly rub her thigh with both hands. She rewards me with a demure smile and strokes my cheek.

"Mmm, tasty little _ladyfingers_," I continue, pulling her hand to my lips and kissing each finger, one by one.

Working slowly up her arm, I kiss and stroke lazily along her skin, reaching her shoulder, and then moving down the side of her torso, right above her waist.

"_Prime rib_—succulent," I sigh, tickling her with my lips this time, enjoying the way her body shakes when I tease it.

I meander my way up her middle, between her cleavage and up her neck, stopping when I reach her face. I run my fingers through her long hair, playing with a lock of it.

"_Angel hair_, so lush and full," I tell her with a smile. She tilts her head bashfully, that magnificent blush sweeping over her cheeks and making my head spin.

She pulls at my t-shirt, beckoning me to bring my face to hers. She kisses me fervently, and I kiss back with equal enthusiasm. Her lips, so sweet and soft, part gently, and I eagerly taste her candy mouth.

When she attempts to pull my shirt over my head, I stop her. I'm not done with my culinary tour just yet.

"Patience, Brown Eyes. There's more gastronomic delights I have yet to savor," I purr, easing my way back down her body, stopping just short of her chest.

"Juicy, ripe _melons_," I say, delighting in her gentle moans when I kiss and lick one nipple and tug and pinch at the other with my hand. I groan when I slip my hand between her legs and feel the warm moisture accumulating there.

"And last, but definitely not least," I say with a smirk before kissing a trail along her hip toward her pubic bone. "My favorite of all—_sashimi_," I chuckle, looking up at her and grinning.

"God, I love you," she sighs with a little giggle.

"I love you. And all your mouth-watering bits," I tell her before tasting the tastiest bit of all. I tease and play, bringing her just to the edge of climax several times until her moans turn into growls. Only then can I be certain that when I'm finished, she will collapse into such a deep sleep that she won't remember a single dream—nightmare or not.

I wake up the next morning to the sounds and smells of breakfast cooking, causing me too grin from ear-to-ear before I'm even fully conscious. I amble my way toward the kitchen, still wiping sleep from my eyes. I'm greeted by the sight of Bella dancing to the collection of songs on the iPod connected to the sound system in the living room. _The White Album_ pipes through the speakers while Brown Eyes sings adorably off-key about Desmond and Molly Jones.

"Ob-la-di Ob-la-da," I laugh, kissing her cheek.

"Good Day, Sunshine," she replies, smiling at me as I clutch her small hips in my hands and sway her back and forth to the music.

"Good Morning, Good Morning," I reply with a wink, moving my palms up and down her sides. I try to pull her into a dance, reaching for her hands but she backs away.

"Day Tripper," she says with a resigned frown and shrug of her shoulders.

"I Want to Hold Your Hand," I protest with a pout. "Please, Please Me," I add playfully, tilting my head toward her and reaching for her.

"Get Back," she warns, wagging her finger at me and scowling at me playfully.

"Come Together?" I plead, sticking out my bottom lip. I know she can't resist the bottom lip.

"Tell Me Why," she says, narrowing her doe-eyes at me.

"I Need You," I tell her simply. "Eight Days a Week," I add, laying it on as thick as possible. She looks at me for a few seconds and sighs.

"Come and Get It," she resigns, holding her arms out.

I wrap my arm around her waist and clasp her hand in mine, gently spinning us in a little circle.

"Love Me Do?" I ask against the shell of her ear. She pulls back to look at my face and smiles.

"Across the Universe," she professes. "Here," she says, kissing the left side of my chest, "There," she adds, kissing my temple, "and Everywhere," she concludes, kissing my lips.

We dance closely, Bella's cheek against mine. I wrap both arms around her waist and can't really resist the opportunity to let my hands roam the landscape of the small of her back, down to the gentle swell of where it transforms gracefully into the most delectably firm backside a man could fondle.

"Magical Mystery Tour," I whisper, as I watch my hand move up her torso to cup her breast. She has a look on her face that conveys mild irritation, but when my thumb grazes her nipple, her expression softens and she closes her eyes.

"Should Have Known Better," she frets resignedly before a light laugh bubbles out of her.

I move my hand to her face and cup her cheek. She turns and presses her lips to my palm, kissing it softly.

"All You Need Is Love," she tells me.

"Yes It Is," I reply. "Yesterday?" I begin, before pointing to myself. "Nowhere Man," I say with a frown. "Till There Was You," I explain, holding her close.

"All My Loving," she confesses. "It's For You," she adds, taking my hand and putting it back on her cheek. I smile as I think to myself that being with her is the best thing that's happened to me in a very long time.

"Getting Better," I say, "In My Life." I stroke her cheek with the pad of my thumb.

"Hold Me Tight?" she asks, leaning her head against my chest.

"I Will," I reply, tangling my fingers into her hair and kissing the top of her head.

"P.S. I Love You," she whispers in my ear.

"When I'm Sixty-Four?" I ask with a smirk.

"Oh, Darling!" she sighs, kissing me. She smiles and scratches my chin. "We Can Work It Out," she replies, nodding her head.

We dance for a few more minutes until Brown Eyes protests that my eggs will be ruined if she doesn't tend to them soon. Reluctantly, I let her go and resign myself to just watching her as she moves seamlessly from task to task, humming and smiling. While enjoying the sight of my favorite omelet chef creating another one of her specialties, thoughts of the future and ideas about long-terms plans invade my mind.

_Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?_

I would love for Bella to be included in those thoughts and plans—to be in that future with me. And I want to offer her the chance to spend that time, however long it is, with someone who is much more than the suave, smooth talker I was when she met me.

"Brown Eyes?" I call out softly from where I'm leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Hmm?" she answers, standing in front of the stove, tending to the various things she's cooking.

"I don't want to be that guy anymore," I tell her.

"Which guy?" she asks, looking over at me with a puzzled expression.

"That guy. The one I was when you met me," I reply, strumming my fingers against the granite.

"Edward," she laughs, "You haven't been 'that guy' for a while—maybe ever," she informs me, shaking her head.

"I want to be a better person than I was then," I reply, walking over to the table with her as she begins serving breakfast for us both.

"You already are," she tells me, delicately sliding my eggs onto my plate and smiling.

"But, there's still a lot I don't know about myself. Maybe if I knew more, I'll be able to move on for good. Then I know I won't ever be 'that guy' again," I explain.

"Okay," she says, putting down her pan and spatula. She looks at me with that same soft expression, the one that makes me want to give her the last dime in my pocket, the last morsel of food I'd ever see, and the heart I didn't think I had.

"I need a favor," I say, my expression turning more serious as I take her hands and kiss them both.

"Anything, just name it," she replies, eying me curiously.

"I need you to help me find my father," I say, knowing that I will need her help in many more ways than one.

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**DUN DUN DUN! Oh, alright, maybe you saw this one coming. :oP**

**Thanks to the Beatles for writing my dialog. Yes, those are all song titles. I got the idea before I found out that the Beatles had, in fact, written/recorded eleventy bajillion songs. There were quite a few to work with, and I narrowed the list down to a puny 125 choices. I managed to work in my two favorites. Hope I mentioned yours. ;o)**

**Oh, before I forget, a number of people have asked if I'll be removing TNGUS from FFnet. I have no plans to do that, however, I've already begun the process of having the story up on Twilighted as well so that there's another place to read the story should things become inhospitable here. ;o) I will post a link to that as soon as it's available.**

**HEY! I've been nominated for a Bellie Award. The category is 'Fic You'd Click on for Title Alone.' Ha ha. I resemble that remark! To vote for this category and all the others, please visit:**

**www(dot)thecatt(dot)net / tw / Vote(dot)aspx**

**Thanks for joining me! Until next time. ::MWAH::**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hello and welcome back! Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter. I appreciate each and every one. 9K reviews! I'm just astounded. Here's mah shocked face :^O**

**Sorry for the long wait. On the bright side, this is an unusually long chapter. It also explains a lot and has some rather emotional moments. Honestly, dramatic scenes are difficult for me to write because I'm a funny girl at heart, so I take much longer to write them. I do hope, though, that you find it was worth the wait. **

**Thank you so much to Nina, aka WriteOnTime, for being a giant slice of awesome.**

**Huge heaping pile of gratitude to Rie, aka Goldenmeadow, for prereading and offering her wonderful words of wisdom. And for creating Eddie. Seriously. Read Dead Confederates, it is amaz****ing! fanfiction(dot)net/ s / 5106610**

**Big hugs and kisses to DragonsExist. Her picture needs to be next to the definition of the word 'cool' cos she pretty much owns that shiz. She's also part of the reason why I lost a few days of writing time. ;o)**

**This is BPOV.**

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**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

"So, the wild cock is tamed and now wants to know which cock he came from?" Rose asks me, chuckling into her caramel macchiato.

"Wild cocks coming…" Alice repeats distractedly, staring off into space as she stirs her chai. "What were we talking about again?" she snorts.

"You guys have absolutely no attention span. It's amazing, really," I gripe, shaking my head at them. I want to be more irritated, but I can't be. The truth is, Alice and Rose, in their own ridiculous way, provide me with more sanity with their crude jokes and nonsensical views about relationships than any pill or head-shrinker ever could.

"No, seriously," Rose begins, "this is good. He wants to find his dad. And you, because you can never say 'no' to this dude, want to help," she sums up with an air of confidence, like she sits in the cat-bird seat of incredibly sophisticated observations.

"Rose, of course I couldn't say 'no' to this. I couldn't say 'no' to anything he wanted to tell me about his family or anything he needed help with," I say in a soft voice. I slump my shoulders and bow my head, resting my chin on my chest.

I'm only doing what I can for him—I don't know how else to be. He trusts me, confides in me; these are things he's never done with anyone else. Sometimes the thought of that alone just overwhelms me, for a few reasons. It makes me happy, so insanely happy, to know he's giving me what he's never given anyone else.

But it also scares the ever-loving bejesus out of me.

I feel as if I'm trying to take care of something very tiny and delicate, but also so very important to me. I don't want to mess up. I can't fail him and make him regret trusting me. He's dealing with stuff he tried so hard for years not to think about. It's causing him to go through some pretty messy emotional baggage. I don't want to do anything that will make the already pretty unstable ground to shift underneath him.

Not to mention…there's a funny thing about love. When the person you love is in pain, even if you did nothing to cause it, guess what? You feel that pain, too. Perhaps you don't feel it as acutely as they do, but shit-on-a-stick, do you feel some of it.

Alice must have noticed the defeated way I've just crumpled up all over our table at Starbucks, and pats my hand before chiming in her own opinion.

"Bella," she says, "I know how much you want to help your Dr. Studmuffin. I think it's awesome of you to care so much," she consoles.

"Thanks. I do care a lot. I want to help make things better for him," I say, fiddling with the wooden coffee stirrer in my hands.

"How was it meeting his old _Grandmama_?" Rose asks, peeking up at me over the coffee cup she holds to her lips.

"It really wasn't that bad. I didn't know what to expect; I wasn't sure if she was gonna be nice, or just a complete bitch, or what. Turns out, she's just this harmless old lady who can barely hold a conversation before needing a nap," I explain. "I felt sorry for her. And for him. All those years feeling angry, guilty. Just a waste," I add with a small frown.

"How'd he react to her?" Alice pipes up.

"Well, I could tell he was freaked out at first—even before we left his apartment and during the drive to the hospital. So I just tried to reassure him as much as I could. I went in and saw her first, just to see what she was like. But then, the whole thing with her thinking I was his mom. I didn't know if Edward could handle seeing that, so I warned him first," I explain, filling them in on details I'd glossed over earlier when Alice texted me.

"Damn, that _is_ messed up," Rose says, once again stating the obvious.

"Part of me is really nervous, you know, because I just don't know what'll happen if we do find his dad. Is he gonna want anything to do with Edward? Will he be pissed off that it took almost thirty years for Edward to get in touch with him?" I wonder out loud, as I feel the anxiety in me start to rise.

"But on the other hand," I continue, "I'm dying to know what the hell happened. What did his mom's parents do? It must have been bad, because she took off with a baby and never spoke to them again," I say, as Alice nods her head in agreement. I rub my forehead to try and relax a little.

"How are you gonna do it? How are you gonna look for him?" she asks me.

"Well, I'm thinking for sure I should look on my own at first. I mean, I should probably contact him instead of Edward doing it himself," I reason. "This way, if the guy doesn't want anything to do with him…" I start to say, but the words just won't come out. It's too painful for me to even think about.

"It'll be easier for Edward, coming from you," Alice answers, completing my thought. Although, she says it with far more conviction than I would have.

I rest my head in my palm as I think about what would happen if that scenario did, in fact, end up happening. What would I say? How would I say it? And his reaction…I can't even imagine the look on his face. It would tear me up inside. The only thing I can do is hope that Carlisle Cullen, wherever he is, whoever he is, will be receptive about the news that he has a son.

I feel the familiar sting of tears in my eyes and start fanning my face with my hand. Edward doesn't know this, but I've been crying on and off the last few days, and it's mainly just to let off steam more than because I'm upset. All of the emotions inside me: anxiety, sadness, fear, and even anger, need to work their way out of my system. I just don't let myself 'decompress,' or even show exactly how I'm feeling in front of him. Last night, I sniffled softly in my chocolate-scented bubble bath while I knew Edward was clearing up our finished dinner in the kitchen.

It's not that I want to hide what I'm feeling, just that I know I need to be the 'brave face' here, to be the one to encourage him and keep his spirits up. I can't do that if I'm sad or nervous. He'd catch on, I know he would. And once he did, he'd close right back up again, not because of his own fear or unhappiness—but to spare me mine.

"Aw, Bella Ball-Sack," Alice coos, putting her arm around me. "Don't cry, girl. No matter what happens, everything will work out. You'll see," she assures me, being the glass-half-full person she always is.

"Listen, what's the worst that could happen?" Rose questions, tilting her head to the side. "His dad's an asshole and blows you off. Edward won't be happy, but he won't be worse off than he was before. At least he'll know, right?" she asks rhetorically, reaching across the table to pat my arm.

I remind myself of my own words to Edward just one week ago: _It will be okay. Even if it's not okay at first, it will be._ And I do believe that. I know what it's like when things are horribly _not_ okay, like experiencing the pain of losing my dad. It hurt worse than anything that ever happened to me. But it got better. Over time, it became okay. I could help Edward through this. If his dad doesn't want anything to do with him, I'll help him grieve just like I did for my own father.

"Yeah, you guys are right. I don't want his dad to be an asshole, but if he is, I think I'm ready for it. I want to help Edward through it if comes to that," I declare, gathering up the guts to really mean what I'm saying.

"Is she the sweetest girlfriend or what, Ro?" Alice asks, pointing at me with a hooked thumb. "This girl is a keeper!" she exclaims.

"Prunella, you are no longer the lucky one who just happens to live downstairs from a hot, naked gynecologist," Rose surmises. "He's a lucky bastard. Hot, sexy, lucky bastard," she adds.

Apparently, this twisted Hallmark moment calls for a song, because all of a sudden, Alice starts belting out a tune.

"_You were my eyes when I couldn't see…you were my cooch when I couldn't pee..._" she warbles, trying her best to imitate Celine Dion.

"_I'm everything I am, because you…boned me…_" the two of them sing in unison, swaying arm-in-arm in their chairs.

"'_My cooch when I couldn't pee_?' Really?" I say, shaking my head and squinting at them. People are staring at us but it's really nothing new for my two best friends to make a spectacle of themselves. It doesn't even embarrass me anymore.

"What, Celine doesn't sing it that way?" Alice asks innocently. "Oh, my bad," she adds nonchalantly before doubling over, laughing. Rose does the same, only she smacks the table a few times for good measure.

I hide my face in my hands, making them think I'm mortified, but I'm actually laughing right along with them. While the original Celine Dion song is completely corny and idiotic, I might just find this all a little ironic. Edward and I really did bring out something meaningful and loving from each other—through each other's pants. And even I can admit there's something funny about that.

Tuesday afternoon rolls around, and I pop into Shelly Cope's office to say goodbye for the day. It's become my usual custom to stop over and chat before I leave.

"So, have you thought more about your plans, Bella?" she asks, referring to our discussion from a few weeks ago. Shelly had asked if I would think about a career in social work, and perhaps pursue a Master's in that instead of going on to study English.

"I have. I talked to my mom about it and she thinks it's a great idea. And I hate to say this, but judging by the look of relief on my thesis advisor's face, he probably thinks it's a great idea, too," I confess with a laugh. I guess he's known for a while that my heart just wasn't in it anymore.

"But how do _you_ feel about it?" she asks. "That's what really counts," she adds, smiling at me.

And while the question Shelly just asked me is rather basic and just plain obvious, I never really did consider what _I_ wanted out of life until recently. I chose to major in English and Creative Writing because they were subjects I was good at. Of course I found them interesting, but was being an academic a calling for me? I never even stopped to ask myself that question; so how could the answer ever have been 'yes'?

"This feels right to me, for sure. It feels like…when I'm here, I'm doing something that matters. And every time I go home, I feel like I did something positive. That makes me happy," I tell her, smiling back.

"I was hoping you'd say that," she beams. "In fact, I was hoping I could get started on paperwork for you to start volunteering full-time once you graduate and start working on becoming certified," she adds.

"Thank you, Shelly, so much," I reply, truly grateful for the opportunity she's giving me. "I won't let you down," I promise.

"You're welcome. And I know you'll be a wonderful addition to our staff," she says, giving me a quick hug.

"Oh," I say, a question popping into my head. "I, um, have a personal issue going on. Do you mind if I ask for some advice?" I wonder, feeling a little awkward.

"Of course," she replies in a soft, calm voice.

I take a deep breath before talking again. "Okay. I'm in a situation where I may have to give someone…bad news. How do you think I should? How should I tell him?" I ask, only now noticing that I'm wringing my hands.

"Bad news? That's a pretty subjective word: 'bad.' It means a lot of different things depending on the person…depending on the situation. Is it the worst possible thing they could hear?"

"Well, I don't think it would be _that_ bad. But it would involve a loss…I mean, the loss at a chance to be happy. It would make him disappointed, to say the least."

"And to say the worst? How would he feel?"

"I think he'd feel rejected. Like he didn't matter," I say, my heart feeling so heavy.

"And this person, he matters to you, doesn't he?"

"Yes. He matters more than anybody," I say, my voice almost a whisper.

"Then it doesn't really make a difference how you say it, so long as he knows that he does matter to someone—_you_," she replies, handing me a tissue and patting my hand. I nod and wipe my eyes.

I feel bolstered by Shelly's wise advice. As long as I'm there for Edward, he can get through this. I think that I'm now ready to help find his father and to reach out to him, and can accept the outcome, even if it's bad news.

"Thank you again. For listening, and for helping me. I really appreciate it," I tell her, after taking a minute to pull myself together.

"Hey, that's why they call me 'Cope.' It's what I teach folks to do," she replies with a wink. She offers me a hug that I gladly accept before leaving to meet Edward downstairs for our drive home.

As soon as I see him, I can tell Edward must have had a busy, tiring shift. He looks exhausted, with bags under his eyes and his feet shuffling slowly as he walks. But despite his obviously low energy level, he still gives me a wide smile and a warm kiss when I greet him by the hospital's main doors.

"They kept you busy, huh?" I ask, stroking his cheek as we settle into his car and head toward the brownstone.

"Yeah, it was pretty brutal. Pregnant women can be really, really mean," he gripes with a frown. "One of them almost wrenched my arm off when I told her it was too late for an epidural. Like it was my fault her labor was going so fast?" he complains, massaging his bicep. I can't help but laugh at his self-pity, but I pat his almost-wrenched-off arm in a show of forced sympathy.

"Yeah, but can you blame her for being unreasonable? I doubt she was thinking clearly, you know, what with the nearly unbearable pain and all," I tease. "I'd probably want to rip your arm off, too," I say, before realizing the ten-ton implication of my words. "I mean, if I were in that much pain, not, you know, pushing out a baby," I quickly amend, waving my hands frantically and hoping to sidestep the booby-trap that is my own mouth.

"I…um," is all Edward can say. He looks utterly, completely at a loss for words as his tired eyes suddenly spring wide open and stare out at the road ahead of us. I pray for the undercarriage of the car to suddenly disappear so I can make some kind of brutal, quick escape right onto the middle of Storrow Drive and all its oncoming traffic. My prayer isn't answered, so I just look out my window instead until we reach home.

When Edward doesn't get out of the car to open my door for me like he usually does, I look over at him, still regretting my lack of filter from a few moments ago. Thank God his face doesn't look so stunned anymore, just sheepish and sweet. He leans over and kisses me before studying me. He has a look of mild hesitation on his face, like he wants to say something, but isn't sure if he should. I smile at him, because that usually works to get him talking when he's nervous. I feel nervous too, until he smirks at me and I know the awkward tension that was in the air has now started to dissipate.

Suddenly, we both start blurting words at one another at the same time.

"The thought of children never even crossed my mind until I met you," he says quickly, like he's trying to get the words out while he still has the guts to say them.

"I want to have a family someday, I mean, not right now, but someday," I confess just as quickly. But then what he's just said registers in my brain. "Really?" I ask, slightly stunned at his admission, but at the same time, very touched.

"Yeah. Really," he replies, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear and smiling that big, wickedly handsome grin at me.

I look down at our hands resting on the center console, our fingers laced together. His large hand is graceful, with beautiful long fingers. Mine is small, with fingers almost all the same length, save for my thumb. But our hands mesh perfectly because I can splay mine open as far as it will go to fit around his, and he'll press his knuckles firmly against my fingers to hold me as tightly as he can.

"This reminds me of when we were in the car coming back from the fall festival," I say, the happy memory washing over me and making me smile. "I asked you to tell me something sweet that would make me feel good," I say, my eyes suddenly finding clock on the dashboard very interesting.

"I remember that," he recalls, as he pulls our clasped hands towards his face and kisses my hand. "Something about you feeling a hundred feet high," he muses with a smirk. I nod my head and give him a shy smile back.

"Well, yeah," I agree. "But you saying what you just did now, it's…maybe a million times better than that," I say with a sigh before kissing him. "And that's a lot of feet," I add, laughing.

"Lots of pitter-pattering little ones?" he says in a soft voice, as he leans over and kisses me.

"Yeah, maybe," I reply coyly, as I feel my face heat up at the very thought of Edward and children. "Let's go upstairs before I say anything else that will embarrass the hell out of me," I coax. "We're both tired and hungry. Come on."

We're inside my warm little apartment, eating a quick meal of re-heated leftovers from the dinner I made last night while Edward was working.

"I always cook too much when you're not around. Maybe I need all the food to keep me company, so I make a big meal," I joke, as I spear the last of my steamed veggies with my fork.

"Hmmm," he begins, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. "Thinking of 'big' things when you're missing me, huh?" he boasts. "How Freudian, frauline."

"Achtung, baby," I warn, glaring at him playfully, waving my finger at him.

"Well, now, lots of things about me are big…big brains, big hands, big feet, big—"

"Mouth? Or wait, maybe ego?" I interject. "How do you even have the energy to keep talking, anyway?" I tease.

"Brown Eyes, when do I ever lack the energy to get you worked up, one way or another?" he asks with a snicker, before grabbing my hand and kissing it softly.

"One of these days…" I threaten jokingly, shaking my head and making a fist like Ralph Kramden from _The Honeymooners_.

"Pow, right in the kisser?" he asks, pretending to be scared and holding up his hands.

"Pow," I repeat, kissing his kisser. "Right in your kisser," giving him one more smooch, you know, to make sure I really teach him a lesson.

"Straight to the moon," he whispers into my ear, getting up from the table and pulling me up with him. We quickly clear the table and I grab my laptop and phone before heading upstairs to Edward's bigger, more accommodating bed.

I strip down to my bra and panties and I climb into bed while Edward undresses down to his boxers. I still can't resist the chance to study his muscles as they bulge and flex when he moves. From his strong back, with its broad shoulders and his long 'swimmer's torso,' to his lithe legs, it just never gets old looking at it. He is simply beautiful.

"Hey, sweet girl," he says, curling up next to me as he pulls up the thick down comforter that swallows as both up. "I think I know that look on your face," he teases, most likely because he's well aware of what it does to my brain (and the rest of me) when I watch him undress.

"Guess I'm caught red-handed by my red face, huh?" I reply, too far gone to make any kind of denial. I may as well make fun of myself.

"Not like I'd complain," he says as his lips curve slyly on one side.

"Of course you wouldn't," I answer, resting my head on the inside of his bicep. I turn into it and give it a light peck. "Oh, this isn't your injured arm, is it?" I ask, half out of concern, and, honestly, half because I can't resist teasing him about it.

"No, but thanks for reminding me that even a woman in the worst part of labor could beat on me if she was motivated enough," he jokes with a yawn.

"I don't even know her, but I want to be friends with her," I quip. "I would ask her for details. Was it a full-on punch with a fist, or, like, a karate chop, or maybe just an elbow-jab?" I muse at his expense.

"Oh, you want to know so you can use it on me, too, right? You know, for '_someday_,'" he teases, easily turning the conversation around so that I'm now the butt of the joke.

"I told you I didn't mean it like that," I protest with a pout.

"But I was hoping you did," he replies, kissing and tickling my neck with his warm breath. "You know, I was thinking…"

"Uh oh," I interrupt with a little snort. He covers my mouth softly with his hand before saying '_ha ha ha_' in a very exaggerated tone.

"Speaking of parenthood and families: I was thinking if I could just find my father, that part of my life can either start by maybe meeting him, or I can finally let it end, if that's what he chooses. In either case, I'll know where I stand and can go from there," he reveals.

"I know, Edward. I'll find him for you, if I can," I offer, as I crane my neck up and kiss his forehead. "If I come across a phone number or even an email, I'll contact him."

"Thank you, Brown Eyes," he whispers, stroking my cheek.

"And…you know, no matter what your father does or doesn't want, I'll always be here, as long as you want me," I confess, somewhat anxiously, before kissing the left side of his chest, just above his heart. He lifts my chin with the tip of his finger and gives me a long, warm, slow kiss to show his gratitude.

"As long as I want you, huh?" he questions. "I'm not sure I like how that sounds. I mean, is there any other woman on Earth I'd love to torment, irk, provoke, and tease more than you? Because if you find her, then yeah, you're out of a job, sweet girl," he jokes.

"Thanks. I'll post a job listing on monster(dot)com. I don't need this gig anymore. Although, seeing you at the hospital everyday once I graduate might be a little awkward," I reveal, springing the news a little surreptitiously.

"Shelly offered you a full-time position?" he questions, sitting up slightly. "You're taking it, right?" he asks, his voice expectant.

"Yeah, of course I am. I'm starting right after spring term lets out. I'll do a year's internship while I apply for an MSW program; hopefully I'll get into the one here or somewhere in Boston," I explain with a smile.

"So proud of you, Brown Eyes," he sighs, kissing my face all over. "And, I'll be honest. I didn't like the thought of you moving away. I'd be lying if the idea of looking for a job wherever you ended up didn't cross my mind," he tells me in a soft voice.

"You _would_ stalk me," I joke, even though my eyes sting at the thought of him going to such lengths to be with me. "And I love you for that," I add.

"You think I'd let any random asshole get his arm punched while you're in labor? I don't think so, Brown Eyes. Not gonna happen," he grumbles.

"Only you would contemplate kids with me just so I wouldn't have them with anyone else. Yet somehow it's…kinda cute," I tell him, grinning but feeling my face get flush. "God, are you happy now? I have no resolve left," I grouse as I kiss his palm.

"Well if my reason is so insufficient, what's yours?" he challenges.

"Because I just love kids…and I hated being an only child. Oh, and, uh, babies smell good," I list.

"What do any of those things have to do with me?" he asks, slightly offended that none of these answers relate to him.

"Because," I begin as I roll my eyes, "you think I wanna punch any random asshole's arm?" I wisecrack.

"Just _this_ asshole's, huh?" he gripes as he rolls over, throwing one leg over me.

"Yep," I confirm, placing his hand on my left boobkie—which is conveniently located above my heart. After breathing a few comfortable sighs together, we relax into a peaceful sleep, with Edward mumbling about at least not being any asshole, and me softly giggling my way to dreamland.

I wake up a few hours later to a very familiar scenario: Edward wrapped tightly around me, rather like those creepy, knotted-up roots of an old tree that rise and peak above the surface of the soil around it—tugging and pulling every which way, and having no intention of letting go. While I used to find this mildly annoying, I've grown to love the way this man clings to me, even in his sleep. What I once thought of as a weight around my neck has now become not a burden clamped around me, but a life entwined with my own. I simply wouldn't, and couldn't, want it any other way.

So, instead of freeing myself with caustic mutterings of annoyance and light elbowing to his ribs, I soften his grip around me with my own tenderness—kisses instead of grumbles, caresses rather than pokes and prods. When he begins to shift and moan, and I feel his body slacken and relax, I know this is the far superior way to rouse him. And it also works to _arouse_ him, which is an added bonus.

I manage to get out from under his big-man-body and roll on top of him, instead.

"This is the best way to wake up ever," he sighs, as I kiss my way down his neck and back up again so that I can have a nice long visit with my favorite pair of full, tasty lips before I freeing of us both of our clothing.

I want every touch and kiss to show what he means to me. How what we've managed to build together in this very seemingly-backward way—by being physically intimate first, and emotionally-connected second—just worked for us. And it evolved it into something true, and real. His heart and soul are things that are more precious to me than I can ever put in words, and it was born of developing a friendship and trust we had to learn to nurture together. The whole experience was unlike anything I'd ever imagined would happen to me, but it did, and at a time in my life when I really, really needed to feel happiness and love.

"Edward…I know I tease a lot," I whisper. "Joke that I only tolerate you, put up with you…but it's our game, you know?" I say, seeking confirmation even though it should be completely obvious to both of us that our playful insults are just that—playful.

"Sure I do, Brown Eyes," he says with smile, as I sit straddle across his thighs while he lies flat underneath me. "I love that part of you. The part that challenges me, never gives in," he adds as his palms skim up and down my sides, stopping at my hips to gently pivot them back and forth.

"No, I won't ever give in, or give up…on _you_," I murmur, leaning forward with my hands on his shoulders so that my upper body is pressed into his, chest to chest, hearts beating as closely together as they can.

I lean upright again and use my hand to gently guide him so that I ease his body into mine, slowly, carefully. Closing my eyes, I feel every nerve in my body awaken and spark. My man is underneath me, allowing me to pleasure us both, to pace us, to let me lead. The lessons now are only about lovemaking, no matter what new thing we try. And this time, I get to not only be teacher, but the one to give, guide, and gratify.

"Brown Eyes," he says, his voice low, almost brooding. "You make me want to give you everything, anything, be the man you deserve. I love you," he moans as his eyes are fixed on watching my move up and down, faster and faster.

"You give me everything I'd ever want. Don't forget that, _love_," I sigh as I place his hand on my left breast while his other hand sinks his fingers into my hip, urging me on.

"Let me, Edward," I say, stilling his hips with my hands and pulling his fingers away from between my legs. "I want to show you how I love to make you feel good, just like the way you've done for me, so many times," I say with the last of my even breathing. Smiling sweetly, he relaxes and just watches me.

I roll my head from side to side, letting my hair fall loosely around my shoulders. I move sinuously, almost like a dancer, and hum each time I sink into him. Edward keeps still but his face, his beautiful face, transforms from mild surprise, to tender and loving, to consumed by lust and need. His eyes roam from my breasts, to my face, and back again. Smiling seductively, I arch my back and run my hands through my hair, lifting it up and letting it fan away from my fingers, gently lilting back down again.

I grind my hips faster, more impatiently, too submerged in sensation to control my moans and frantic movement. I need to reach that final point where it all unravels inside me—it's that place where only this man can take me. It's where everything stops and becomes one explosive jolt of excitement, warmth, and ecstasy.

"Bella's Edward, Bella's Edward," I gasp, pulling his wrists and resting his palms on either side of my face.

"Beautiful, beautiful Bella," Edward moans. "I," he gasps, "am yours," he groans, as his body goes rigid and I feel him jerk inside me.

"I'm yours, too," I whisper.

Heaving a sigh of happy exhaustion, I pull the covers back over us and I rest my upper body on top of him, my head nestled between his jaw and collarbone. I still have my legs on either side of his hips, essentially pinning him beneath me.

So tonight, I do the smooshing. And it makes me think of pitter-pattering, and wishbones split right down the middle, and a fort made of sheets with a candy and pretzel campfire.

I wake the next morning to Edward still soundly asleep, a light smile on his lips. I'm tempted to kiss those lips but I don't want to wake him. Somehow I managed to sleep all night on top of him, so when I gently ease away toward the edge of the bed, he just rolls onto his side, completely undisturbed. I slip on a t-shirt and some PJ bottoms that I've gotten into the habit of leaving at his apartment. I go to the couch in the living room, where I take a seat and start up my laptop.

Edward's working a later shift today, so I know he'll be asleep a while longer. Glancing at the time on my monitor, I see that it's only 8am. Opening my web browser, I stare at my homepage, the brightly-colored letters that spell _Google_ staring back at me.

I feel the familiar hooves of a thousand galloping horses thundering inside my chest as I type three words in the search box.

_Carlisle Cullen doctor_

The results pop up immediately, in .37 seconds, to be exact. And the first link at the top of the list doesn't help the thundering in my chest.

_Dartmouth Medical School Faculty Directory_

**Carlisle Cullen, M.D.** Title(s): Professor of Emergency Medicine. Department(s): Medicine. Education: Dartmouth College of Medicine, MD **...**

Closing my eyes, I'm not sure whether to pray that this is _the_ Carlisle I'm looking for, or to pray that it isn't. I click on his name anyway, and it feels like the mental equivalent of ripping off a band-aid really fast.

When I finally open my eyes, it's my mouth that opens next.

The picture on the screen in front of me stuns me momentarily—it isn't because I know this man; in fact, I'm certain he's a stranger to me. But I recognize him. This man is Edward's father. Obviously, he doesn't have the Masen hair or green eyes. But the things I saw in Edward that captivated me, sometimes irritated me, the things I now know so intimately that they're etched in my heart, they're Carlisle's: the half-smile, the tilt of his head, the elegant hands with long fingers folded on the desk he sits behind.

"It's him," I whisper to myself.

And it only took .37 seconds. The time it takes to blink could fix or fuck up years of hurt.

I quickly scan the short biographical information and notice that even the timeline of Carlisle's medical school education matches up with when Edward would've been conceived and born. I also notice contact information and a schedule for office hours, presumably for his students.

_Office hours: MWF, 8am – 10am. Please call to schedule an appointment or if you're unable to see me in person._

Before I give my nerves the chance to get the better of me, I grab a pen and paper and quickly jot down a 'script' of sorts. It's my insurance policy against losing my cool and hanging up the phone should he answer it.

I take a giant breath and dial the number on the screen.

"Carlisle Cullen," a voice answers. I'm again stunned, almost frozen. I'd think it was Edward pulling a prank on me. Their voices are identical.

"Hello?" the voice repeats.

"Uh, hello," I stammer out, glancing at my notes in my hand. "My name is Bella Swan. I'm calling because I'm looking for someone. Did you happen to know a Libby Masen?" I ask quickly.

"Who is this?" he asks, even though I already said my name. I can tell just from the three words he said that he is rattled.

"My name is Bella. I'm looking for someone who knew Libby Masen. I'm, uh, very sorry to just call out of nowhere," I offer.

"You're not looking for Libby? Do you know where she is?" he asks, his voice impatient, anxious.

"Yes," I answer, swallowing thickly. "I'm sorry, but she's passed away. Truly sorry," I say, knowing that by the sound of his anxiety, this would be difficult for him to hear.

The line is silent for a moment, and just as I begin to wonder if he's hung up on me, he starts to talk again.

"Oh, Libby," he says, his voice barely a whisper. I wait a moment, giving him a chance to process what's obviously affecting him deeply. "You're not," he tries to say. "Is Libby your mother?"

"No, um. Her son…" I start to say, fighting back what feels like my throat closing up. "Her son is my boyfriend," I explain.

"Her son? Libby had children?"

"Just one. But, she, she never got married," I reply, trying to hint at what I'm struggling very hard to say.

"Oh, God. How old is he?" he asks, realization dawning on him.

"He's twenty-eight," I answer plainly despite the fact that my hands are shaking.

"His name is Edward, isn't it?" he asks, knowing the answer.

"Yes, but…"

"Libby's father. That _man_," he spits, the anger in his voice rising. "Why did I listen to him? Libby told me she'd name the baby Edward if it was a boy. I just can't believe…he's alive? Libby's father told me the baby was gone, that she'd lost it."

"No, Dr. Cullen. Edward is fine. Um, in fact, he's a doctor, too," I offer, hoping to add something happy to the conversation.

"Why didn't she tell me?" he asks. "Why didn't he contact me sooner?"

I take a deep breath before answering. "Dr. Cullen, there's a lot to talk about and sort through. But I think Edward should be the one to explain it to you. I called you, really, for one reason," I tell him.

"What reason?" he asks, sounding concerned.

"To ask whether or not you'd be open to talking to him, or even meeting him," I answer.

"Did you say he's a doctor?" he asks. I'm perplexed by this. It almost seems like a non sequitur.

"Yes. He's an OB/GYN. Here, in Boston, where we live," I reply, happy to give him little details that he seems interested in hearing about.

"Not a lawyer at Masen Law?" he presses. I can almost hear him smiling.

"No. In fact, I don't think he likes lawyers very much," I explain, feeling my mouth form a smirk, the implication of why he doesn't not needing any explanation.

"Ha. Neither do I." He's quiet again for a moment before continuing. "'Edward Masen, M.D.' I like the sound of that," he adds.

"Oh, it's Cullen, actually. Edward Cullen," I correct.

"Libby…she gave him my name? She…cared more than I was led to believe," he says cryptically.

"Edward would like to know more about what happened, and I hope you're able to help him figure it all out," I say, feeling optimistic.

"My son…I can't believe it," he repeats. "Bella, you said? His girlfriend?"

"Yes. He asked me to help find you," I say, the warmth of thinking about Edward washing over me as it becomes more and more clear to me that Carlisle is, in fact, very interested in knowing more about his son.

"Bella, I have a letter I wrote a few years ago. One night, I was thinking about Libby and how things turned out. I wrote this thing hoping one day I could send it to someone, but I wrote it to the child I thought was gone. I still have it, and I want to fix it up and email it to you. Will you give it to Edward for me?" he asks.

"Of course," I reply. "I want to help in any way I can," I offer before giving him my email address.

"Thank you. Edward is lucky to have you," I'm told for the second time in less than a few days.

"It was nice talking to you," I say. He tells me to expect his email shortly, and we say our goodbyes.

I get up from my chair and can't stop myself dancing in place for a second or two. And it's because the worst hasn't happened. It's because I can already tell that Carlisle Cullen, by all rights, seems like a decent guy.

I quickly wash up in the bathroom before heading into the kitchen to start breakfast. As usual, the smell of my cooking works its magic, and Dr. Bed Head makes an appearance, kissing my cheek sweetly while moaning that he's starving.

I just can't help the feeling of pure relief mixed with joy when I look at Edward, but I debate whether or not to tell him about my phone call to Carlisle. Instead of just springing all this on him when he's only just opened his eyes, I decide to have him eat his breakfast and drink his morning coffee before getting into any kind of intense conversation.

"Breakfast's ready, coffee's brewed. So no complaining," I warn, waving my spatula at him.

He makes his classic 'kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar' face at me, and I just shake my head at him and tell him to set the table.

We eat a light meal of scrambled egg whites and some wheat toast, and just as I finish clearing the table, my laptop chimes from the coffee table, telling me I have email. Edward watches me closely as I start suddenly at the sound.

"What's wrong?" he asks, sensing that I've reacted a little too keenly to a sound that usually doesn't make me look startled.

"It's um, email. I'm pretty sure it's from Carlisle Cullen," I force out.

Edward looks at me with a mixture of incredulity and shock.

"You found him?" he asks, his eyes wide.

"It was almost too easy," I reply softly as I nod my head. "I called him about an hour ago. It's definitely him. Let me print out that email so you can read it."

A few minutes later, I hand Edward two pieces of paper as they emerge from his printer.

"He asked me to give this to you," is all I tell him.

Edward sits down on the couch, the email hanging limply in his hand but his eyes on me.

"Brown Eyes…can you?" is all he says, holding the papers out to me.

"Of course," I say, taking them. I stand over him and look at his face, and how it's just such much a mixture of emotions. Without saying a word, there's an unspoken exchange where an invitation is extended by one of us and accepted by the other—and so, I sit on his lap. He rests his head on my chest and closes his eyes.

"_Dear Edward_," I begin. "_When your girlfriend Bella called me just a short while ago and gave me some much unexpected news, I wasn't sure how to react. I was, and still am, shocked and saddened by the passing of your mother. She will remain in my memory the vibrant, beautiful, and intelligent girl I fell in love with the moment I saw her._

"_We met at a homecoming party at Yale. She looked bored, and frankly, out of place. I was there visiting some friends, but when I saw her standing alone in her own little corner and obviously daydreaming, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Eventually, she'd catch me staring, but would look away. I finally worked up the nerve to talk to her. She was shy at first, and it was almost as if she was wondering why I'd even want to talk to her._

"_We ended up talking that entire night—until the sun rose, in fact. Well, 'talking' is putting it rather mildly. We debated over politics, books, movies, even which cereal we preferred. There was a fire in her that I was taken by instantly. We spent that entire weekend together, and I even missed a few days of class to extend my stay. I just didn't want to say goodbye to this high-spirited, amazing woman._

"_I drove down to New Haven every weekend for the next month. On one of those visits, your mother told me she was pregnant. After the initial shock wore off, I was, frankly, ecstatic. I knew Libby was the love of my life. But Libby was worried. She was from an old, established, and wealthy Chicago family. She'd been 'groomed' from an early age to carry on her family's tradition of joining the ranks of some of the most successful attorneys by joining the Masen Law firm. Getting married and having a baby before even finishing college would mean she would have to put all of that on hold. She told me it didn't matter, and I believed her._

"_And yes, I wanted to marry your mother. I had every intention of proposing to her. But my insecurities nagged at me. I was from modest New Hampshire family—the son of an Episcopal reverend. I was living on scholarships and loans. I still had two years of medical school before I would start earning a living. But I had inherited my father's strong faith, and believed that all this was happening for a reason, and all part of a larger plan. _

"_I couldn't wait for you to be born and to hold you for the first time. I wanted you to be baptized by your own grandfather at the small rural church where I spent most of my childhood. Whether you going to be 'Edward' or 'Lily' (both your mother's choices,) I was going to love you and do everything I could to make certain you grew into a happy adult._

"_Things between Libby and I became strained. She seemed uncharacteristically distant and began making excuses for why I shouldn't visit her on weekends. I asked her to marry me, but she insisted it was impractical. Neither of us lived in our own homes, but rather in dormitories. She wanted to wait until the end of the spring term, so she could at least finish out her sophomore year before taking a leave of absence to have you._

"_The last time I saw your mother, she was leaving for Chicago for Christmas break at the end of fall term. Our goodbye was so very emotional. I couldn't help but sense that something was terribly wrong. Being young and the type to wear my heart on my sleeve, I felt that perhaps all this was just too much for her—that our romance was too rushed, and she was feeling stifled._

"_I called her a few days after she left, but I was told she was never home. After a week of calling every day, I felt out of my mind. I got in my car and drove 900 miles to Chicago with the small diamond engagement ring that had been in the Cullen family for generations snugly pressed into my jacket pocket._

"_I got as far as her parents' front door. Her father refused to let me in the house. He told me I was ruining Libby's life, and that she was deliberately avoiding my calls because she wanted to be left alone. In fact, the stress of the entire situation had caused her to lose the baby. She needed time to herself, and that all of this had taken too much of an emotional toll on her._

"_My pleading with him to at least let me see her fell on deaf ears. And when he asked 'what could a poor churchman's son possibly offer a Chicago Masen debutante?', he'd finally worn down the last of my resolve by exploiting my one weakness: my belief that I wasn't good enough for her, and that she deserved better than me._

"_I left Chicago with the ring still in my pocket and my heart completely broken. I'd lost the woman I loved, and our child, in one fell swoop. I still made efforts to contact your mother—through phone calls, letters, messages sent through friends. They were never answered. I learned she took the spring semester off, at her parents' insistence, due to 'extreme stress,' and that she'd be transferring to the University of Chicago after that. _

"_After graduating from medical school, I completed my internship and residency in Chicago, thinking that some small stroke of luck would allow me to somehow run into her. But it never happened. I tried for five years, and when my family persuaded me to move back to New Hampshire, I did so, albeit reluctantly. I was lucky enough to obtain a staff position at Dartmouth's Medical Center, and eventually began teaching medicine as well._

"_While working at the hospital, I met a wonderful woman named Esme. She worked as a pediatric nurse who noticed that I ate at the same table, eating the same sandwich, every day. One day, she walked over to my table and offered me a brownie, saying that I looked like I could use a little something different. She was right. We've been married for fifteen years now. We've always wanted a family, but it just never happened for us. Now, I do understand the real meaning of things happening for a reason, and everything being part of a larger plan._

"_I hope this letter explains some of the things you've perhaps wondered about me. There are so many questions I would very much like to ask you, if you're inclined to answer them. I'm truly sorry for your mother's passing, but I don't think I can adequately apologize for not playing a role in your life. For this, I will always be sorry._

"_And while there's nothing I can do to make up for missing so much time with you, I would very much want an opportunity to get to know the person you are now. Bella told me you're also a physician, and this already makes me proud._

"_You have my email address and office number, but I'll include the rest of my contact details at the end of this message. I welcome any sort of conversation you might want to have, whether it's through email, over the phone, or even in person._

"_Warmly,_

_Carlisle"_

By the time I'm done reading, my voice is raspy and hoarse. I started to get the urge to cry after the first few sentences. I could feel the emotion practically jumping off the page from Carlisle's description of how much he cared for Edward's mom, and there was just no way for me to contain myself. I cried reading the entire thing. What a sad turn of events for his parents. What a sad stroke of bad luck and ill intentions that not only did Edward have no control over, but from the looks of it, neither did his parents.

I softly drop Carlisle's letter onto the coffee table in front of me and look down at the face of the man who, by no choice of his own, was the center of so much: unresolved hurt, unrequited love, lost hope. He shared in all that; he felt it, too.

Edward was hurt by being raised by a mother with a closet crammed with skeletons. She must have kept those secrets to protect him, but it didn't work. He suffered from his mother's unrequited love because of how sad it made her, how it drove her to drink and ultimately cause her own death. He had his own unrequited love, maybe not the romantic kind, but he never knew the love of a father. And when his mother passed, I think that's when Edward lost his hope of ever loving another person.

Stroking his cheek and kissing his forehead, I hug Edward as tightly to me as I can. At first, he's simply limp and doesn't hug me back, but I just keep holding him, rubbing his back, and telling him how much I love him.

"Edward," I whisper, sniffling as I wipe my face with the back of my hand. "Talk to me, please," I ask. He looks up at me with those soulful eyes, tinged with redness.

"I was…wanted," is all he says. I'm too overcome to react with words and just nod my head and give him the biggest smile I can muster.

"You were always wanted, and I think your dad would love to get to know you," I reply, running my fingers through his thick hair and patting his cheek.

"What do I say? How do I act? I mean, all this time…wasted," he laments, his brow furrowed.

"Maybe he wasn't there for you in the past, but he definitely wants to be now. That's what counts. He wants a chance. Give it to him," I urge softly, tilting my head and smiling. He nods but his face looks doleful, sullen.

"What if, you know," he mumbles, not making eye contact. "What if he doesn't like me?" he asks, shrugging his shoulders. The tone of his voice crackles with the pain of wondering such a thing.

"Oh, _love_," I murmur back simply. I hold his face in my hands. "You're looking at the person who, on the night of her birthday, swore to your face that she'd never fall in love with you, and look how _that_ turned out," I gently tease before kissing him softly.

"But we didn't try to fall in love. We just did," he argues, his expression thoughtful, yet slightly confused.

"Exactly. You don't have to try to get your dad to like you. He just will. Trust me," I reassure, hugging him again. He hugs me back this time, and I don't think I've ever been so happy to be smooshed in my life.

"I think I'll email him back," he says, looking more optimistic than he did just a few minutes ago. I can just see the happy look in his eyes come back, and it's such a welcome thing to see.

"That is a fantastic idea," I reply, eager to encourage him to reciprocate Carlisle's effort to reach out to him.

"What would I do without you, Brown Eyes?" he asks, holding my chin with two fingers.

"Uh, you'd be hangin' with your hoochies and eating a lot less eggs," I joke, screwing up my face at him.

"But you're better than they ever were, and so are your omelets," he says with a frown.

"You know, it's not like that's saying much, but I'll take what I can get," I reply with a laugh. "Hey, I have an idea," I say, something suddenly popping into my head.

"Lay it on me, Brown Eyes," he replies, his fingertips tracing the outline of my lips.

"I say we play hooky today. You must have a ton of days off banked, and I only have one class that I could easily just get the notes for from someone," I suggest. "What do you think?" I ask, hoping he'll say 'yes' so we can just spend the day decompressing or even talking about stuff if he feels like it.

Happy warmth that starts in my chest soon spreads all the way to my fingers and toes when he gives me a big, playful smile. We get up from the couch and stand facing one another, our very different, yet very compatible, hands laced together once again.

"I've said it before, but I'll say it again. I like the way you think," he tells me with a raised eyebrow.

"Race you to the shower?" I challenge.

"Ha," he snorts. "As if you could outrun me," he huffs, before simply scooping me up and carrying me to the bathroom like a sack of potatoes.

"Some race this is," I grumble indignantly as I hang limply, my hair upside down and my t-shirt around my armpits.

And while I didn't win the race or even get to run in the first place, I can't help but feel like I've won something on a much grander scale. I helped Edward through something I doubt he ever would've attempted alone, and best of all, by the looks of things, he'll come out of this happier for it.

No bigger win than that.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN! **

**Tune in next time when we find out more about Edward's past through TNGUSPOV.**

**Sorry, I've got a long a/n here but I got a bunch to yak about, so bear with me. ;o)**

**Okay, so in the last chapter I wrote some banter using Beatles song titles. There I was thinking I was being all clever and original. Yeah, well, I should listen to my own disclaimer. I come to find out that there are other fics with Beatles references that are awesome and worth taking a peek at. Here are two of them.**

_**Eight Days a Week**_**, by 107yearoldvirgin, is a wonderful romantic comedy. **

**www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net / s / 5647059**

_**Maybe I'm Falling for You**_**, co-written by coldplaywhore and ****Flightlessbird11****, is another sweet romantic comedy. www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net / s / 5343966**

**There's even a Beatles-inspired one shot contest. "All You Need is Love" is still accepting entries. allyouneedislovecontest(dot)blogspot(dot)com**

**Also I wanted to mention that I have TNGUS posted on the Writer's Coffee Shop. ****Every update I've written so far (including this one) is there now.**

**www(dot)twcslibrary(dot)com / viewstory(dot) php ? sid = 858**

**TNGUS is also on Twilighted but because of the validation process, it's a few chapters behind. But I have a wonderful validation beta and hope to have all the updates posted there soon. ****www(dot)twilighted(dot)net / viewstory(dot) php ? sid = 10627**

**Last, and sorry for rambling like this…but I posted my Haiti compilation piece on my FFnet. It's a side-shot of TNGUS, more specifically, the first chapter from his POV. It's called **_**The New Girl Downstairs.**_**www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net / s / 5785564**

**Once again, thanks for reading. Until next time. ::MWAH::**


	25. Chapter 25

**Hello and welcome back. Thank you so much for the reviews for the last chapter. I tried to reply to all of them, and I think I managed to actually do it this time! You've all been so positive and supportive; it's just awesome. And I apologize for not warning anyone to have tissues handy. I didn't mean to make you guys cry.**

**Heaps of love as usual to Nina, aka WriteOnTime, for being an invaluable source of help and encouragement. She's the Sofia to my Dorothy. Thank you for being a friend. You're a pal and a confidante.**

**Much, much gratitude to Rie, aka goldenmeadow, for pre-reading.**

**Miztrezboo, DragonsExist, and Marzy know why I love them so. Huge thanks and a box of tissues to SunnyBunny13.**

**One last thing: parts of this chapter won't make sense if you haven't read the accompanying side-shot **_**The New Girl Downstairs**_**. You may want to take a peek at it first if you haven't already: fanfiction(dot)net / s / 5785564**

**Fair warning: have tissues handy!**

**

* * *

**

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

**This is TNGUSPOV.**

I rub my eyes with my palms after clicking the little 'send' button on the email I've just written Carlisle. In it, I explained everything about my life thus far. My mom's death was due to alcoholism, though she hid it well—even from me—until I was old enough to know better. She never explained why she left Chicago so soon after my birth, or why she had no contact with her parents. I moved in with them after her death, but was promptly shipped off to boarding school. My grandfather died suddenly of a heart attack several years later, and never offered any information on what had happened. My grandmother was now in the final stages of Alzheimer's, but she was the one who gave me the one clue I needed to find Carlisle: his first name.

Today has been an emotional, but at the same time, very gratifying, day for me. I was more than mildly terrified of how Carlisle would react to Bella contacting him. Convinced he had no idea I existed, the best I hoped for from him was utter shock and perhaps a half-hearted promise to send me a card every Christmas. I truly doubted he'd want anything to do with me.

Learning he knew of my mother's pregnancy and how he felt about it, and about her, simply astounded me. I'd spent years feeling hollow, like a ghost of a person, because of my convoluted and misguided theory of how I came into the world. I realize now how wrong I was. While nothing makes up for all the time I spent wandering aimlessly in regard to how I related to others, from this point on, I can try to move and exist with some purpose, some meaning.

Suddenly, I recall something Brown Eyes said to me after one of our fights—_you can't get lost if you follow your own path. Besides, we all have a map. Well, more like an internal GPS. Your heart, Edward. It tells you where to go._

I thought I understood what she meant at the time, but it's only recently that I'm actually experiencing what she described. I can now be guided by the emotions I fought so long to suppress because of how painful they were. I took the easy, coward's way out, by pretending nothing affected me. But in the end, all I'd done was create a life for myself that was empty, meaningless, and without direction.

Even though it was my grandmother who gave me the one clue I needed to find my father, it was Bella who gave me the courage to act on it and look for him. Without her gentle, guided urging, I would still be 'that guy' who I've grown not to like very much anymore. And now, thankfully, I don't need to be him, think like him, or act like him.

My mind drifts to thoughts of Bella and what she means to me as I stand up and stretch from my office chair. She is simply the best thing that's ever happened to me.

A smile creeps across my face when I remember how she made love to me last night. It was one of the first of many fantasies I've had about her. But this one had actually come to life: her body straddling mine, moving up and down, her breasts bouncing along to the rhythm of her hips grinding.

The fantasy…it had _nothing_ on the real thing. God, the real thing was infinitely better. I got to watch her transform into the woman she is now: confident in her beauty, her sexuality, but also loving, bright, independent…sometimes even maddeningly, tenaciously stubborn. But I get to love that woman. Amazing.

Making my way toward the kitchen, I lean my shoulder against the doorframe and watch her from behind as she washes dishes. I notice something that takes me by surprise—her shoulders are slumped and shaking. The water's running so I can't hear her, but I know she's crying.

"Brown Eyes," I say softly as I put my hand on her shoulder and use the other hand to turn the tap off. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

I seem to have startled her, because she jumped a little when she felt my hand touch her.

"Nothing," she replies curtly, her eyes blinking rapidly. "I think, I, uh, got some soap in my eyes…or something," she offers rather unconvincingly while looking down at the floor.

I raise an eyebrow at her and gaze at her skeptically. I know a lot of things about this woman, and one of them is that she is horrible at bullshitting people. She can't even tell a harmless white lie without her face and body language giving her away.

"You were crying," I state simply. "Please tell me why," I ask again, tilting her chin up so she has to look at me.

"You'll think it's your fault," she protests meekly.

"Think what's my fault?" I press, handing her a paper towel so she can dry her hands.

"Why I'm crying."

"I can't think about anything but worrying about you if I don't know why."

"That's why I don't want to tell you...why," she replies nonsensically.

"Now, I'm really going to think it's something I did if you try to hide it. Please?" I request again, my brow furrowed. She stands there for a moment, silently wringing the paper towel she's holding. I take it from her, replacing it with my hand, which she begins to nervously play with, as has become her usual habit.

"I was crying because it's been a long day," she confesses. "I'm _not_ sad," she pipes up quickly. "Just a lot of emotions swirling around in my head, and I cry so I can 'vent' and let them out," she adds, studying one of the deeper creases in my palm as her finger traces it back and forth.

"You did this before—that day at the hospital when you texted me to meet you in the lounge," I remember. She nods her head at me sheepishly.

Judging by how guilty she looks, I can only imagine she's 'vented' on numerous occasions while helping me sort through the issues involving my grandmother and the search for my father. How it never dawned on me before now that it would be difficult for her to be immune to all the stress and sadness is, frankly, fucking absurd. All I wanted was her help and I never considered the toll it took on her.

"I'm sorry all of this upsets you. It isn't right. Or fair," I tell her, regretful over how selfish I'd been.

"It's _not_ upsetting me. I told you. I'm _venting_," she insists, looking slightly annoyed and dropping my hand.

"No, _venting_," I refute, "is when you punch me or elbow me in the ribs. What you were doing just now was crying. I can't…Brown Eyes, it's unacceptable. Your crying is unacceptable," I add sternly, shaking my head and waving my hand, palm down, with an air of finality.

"Unacceptable?" she laughs. "You're ridiculous, you know that? What is this, you're issuing a 'no-crying' edict or something?" she asks, her irritation rising. "Are you the tear tyrant now? The Mussolini of weeping? A, uh…_Wussolini_?!" she snaps in frustration, as she looks at me with an incredulous grimace.

"What's so wrong about not wanting to see you upset?" I reply, feeling defensive. "And yes, if I could keep you from crying, I would," I add, telling her the God's honest truth.

I lead her into the living room, where we both take a seat on the couch. She lets out a deep breath and closes her eyes, obviously trying to quell her irritation and clear her thoughts.

"You can't keep me from feeling, Edward. It doesn't work like that. All the negative emotions—being sad, angry, whatever—even I can't shield myself from feeling them, and I don't _want_ to," she explains, looking a little calmer. "The things going on with you, things that are emotional for you, I feel them. But it's nothing I can't handle if I can just 'vent' a little," she adds, looking up at me.

"But I don't want you feeling badly because of me," I argue.

"Let me explain something. When you're sad, I am, too. There's no getting around it. Like or not, if you suffer, I do, too. Don't blame yourself, and don't try to tell me what I should and shouldn't feel. You _know_ I hate that," she tells me.

"You do get ornery," I inform her hesitantly, a frown forming on my face. But when she laughs lightly to herself, I know she's not quite as annoyed as she was a minute ago.

"Just be decent and love me for it, will you?" she asks with a small, half-smile. "Because it's just part of the deal," she adds, with just as much finality to her tone as I had in mine a few minutes ago.

"Fair enough, but don't hide this 'venting' from me, either. It doesn't do anything but make me worry more," I say. "And you did promise me you'd be more open about talking to me, and having more faith in me," I remind her.

"I know. I know," she concedes, putting her hand up as she talks. "But I figured you'd react this way, that you'd blame yourself. And that's the only reason why I didn't want to vent in front of you," she explains. "It's funny…well, more like ironic, because I was actually thinking to myself that this was the last time I'd be crying, and really, it was only because I was relieved more than anything," she confides.

When I put my arm around her, she rests her head on my shoulder before continuing. "Carlisle wants to get to know you. Everything is working out. I hoped for the best, but expected the worst. And the worst didn't happen," she says in a soft voice.

"No," I reply, stroking her hair. "The worst didn't happen. And I couldn't have done it without your help. I owe you, Brown Eyes. A lot," I tell her with all sincerity before kissing her forehead.

"That'll be $12.47, including tax. Because God knows, you _do_ tax me," she quips, closing one eye and wagging her finger at me.

"Don't kid, come on. I'm serious," I reply, grasping her wagging finger and kissing the tip of it.

"Hey," she begins, grabbing my face with her hands. "I can't help kidding around when you say something like that. You don't 'owe' me anything," she informs me, looking at me with that same loving expression I've grown to think I can't really live without.

"But you've done a lot more for me than I have for you," I reply, being completely honest.

"That's not true, Edward. I've told you before why I love you…how you've done a lot for me, too," she says softly as she reaches for my hand to lightly massage the space between my thumb and index finger. "You made me happy, still make me happy. I wouldn't have such a worthwhile job at the hospital. I wouldn't be living the life I was meant to," she reminds me, studying my thumb.

"I love you, Brown Eyes," I reply, not really knowing what else to say. I can't really put into words how it makes me feel when she tells me how much I've done for her, how happy I make her.

"I love you, too," she says back, kissing me sweetly. "And I'm not about to start keeping an accounting. Because I stink at numbers, first of all. And second of all, you'd cook the books because you're a sneaky cheater like that," she teases, stroking my cheek with her thumb.

"Can't cook your books? But I love _acquiring your firm assets_," I flirt, feeling up her _firm assets _with both hands.

"God, if anyone could make even accounting sound dirty, it _would_ be you," she scolds playfully, rolling her eyes and shaking her head before laughing.

"Come on, you know you love my _installment method_," I say with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

She lets out a cute little growl and straddles my lap. I laugh when she tries to jab me in the chest because I can either push her little fists away or just let her hit me—it doesn't hurt.

"Ouch," I moan with mock pain. "Stop beating me up, woman!"

"I'm not beating you up. I'm _venting_, remember, wise guy?" she says back, her face lit up with laughter.

"Here's how I _vent_," I tell her in a whisper against her neck, my hands roaming up and down her sides until they stop at her hips. I leave a soft trail of kisses all the way from her shoulder, down her arm, and to the inside of her wrist. Her fist opens up like a flower when she feels my lips press into her pulse, and so I take her palm, and gently kiss it, too.

"There's no use fighting you, there never was," she murmurs, her eyes closed.

"I'm glad we can agree on something," I joke as I kiss my way back up her arm.

"Hey, we just had our first real fight as, you know, boyfriend and girlfriend," she tells me in a soft voice, biting her lip and looking at me expectantly.

"And we worked it out," I reply with a wry smile, before busying myself with nibbling on her earlobe.

"You know what that means, right?" she asks, pulling away from me slightly. She looks at me with those brown doe-eyes, and gives me a coquettish, knowing smile.

"Make up sex?" I ask back with a wink. _Oh, the possibilities._

"It's supposed to be the best kind," she whispers, pressing her lips to mine.

"It's settled then," I tell her. "There _is_ a use to fighting me. In fact, we're fighting every day from now on," I add, before licking my lips.

I know the lip licking makes her a little crazy, and frankly, I'm not above using every available tactic I have in my vast arsenal of flirtatious behavior. When she subconsciously licks her lips back at me, I let 'that guy' I used to be give himself a little pat on the back. No sense in giving up _all_ my bad habits. I'm just using them for a far more worthwhile purpose: to have my way with my Brown Eyes.

"You know licking your lips does things to me, Edward," she scolds playfully.

_Aw, shit._

"You're a naughty, _naughty_ boy," she coos as she gets up from the couch and stands over me. "Making me all worked up with our little lovers' quarrel and now making me all worked up, all over again," she adds, flicking her hair over her shoulders and pushing her chest out, so that I can see her very pert, very taut nipples through her thin t-shirt. "See how you cheat and don't play fair?" she protests as her bottom lip juts out at me.

_Oh, I can see, alright. I can see every ridged little line in your perfect, pink nipples._

If I'm not mistaken, I think someone's trying to best me at my own game. In this particular skirmish, however, I'd gladly get my ass kicked—but not without giving it the honest, or perhaps, not-so-honest, _college try_. When she tugs my hands toward her so that I have to stand up, I comply without hesitation. I'm feeling quite aroused by her very sudden, and very sexy, little power play.

"Oh, well, I guess you'll need to settle the score, then, won't you?" I purr, raising an eyebrow at her. It's time for the heavy artillery, clearly.

When she simply growls at me, and her face looks as if she doesn't know whether to kiss me or clock me, I know I hit my target right in the bull's-eye. I take one generous step toward her, our noses practically touching.

"Are you terribly angry at me?" I ask, my voice gravelly and mildly ominous, despite the fact that I'm pouting at her. She takes one step back and I take another forward.

"No," she replies, her voice tinged with mild irritation and arousal. She eyes me up and down before continuing. "I'm not angry, Edward. I'm…_furious_," she adds, as she pulls her shirt over her head.

I swallow hard when she tosses her shirt to the floor and watches my face as my eyes dart between her lips and her breasts. My brain can't decide what looks tastier—her mouth or her tits. My dick decides it's a tie.

Her aim, it seems, is just as good as mine. She's got this bull, but _not_ by his eyes.

"I love it when you're angry," I tell her plainly. "It's always turned me on. Since the day I met you, I've thought about that look you get on your face—so _passionate_," I lightly hiss into her ear, as I use my arms to pin her against the wall.

"You enjoy playing with me…far too much," she chides through clenched teeth. Despite her angry tone and expression, she peels my shirt off, then presses the heels of her palms into either side of my neck, pulling my mouth on top of hers. Our kiss is impatient, greedy.

Slipping my hand into the waistband of her yoga pants and stealthily sliding it under her panties, I gently push my middle finger between her legs.

"Judging by how wet it is down here, Brown Eyes, I think you might enjoy it too, hmm?" I tease.

"You, my friend, are _not_ one to judge," she teases back when her hand meets the hard bulge she can feel through the button-fly of my jeans.

It used to perplex me how this little bookworm managed to make me incapable of keeping my wits about me, question my finesse with the female species, and overall, simply cause me to doubt that I had any skill at all at a game I considered myself to have mastered. I think I now realize it's a fool's errand to even to try to rival her anymore.

I give up, surrender, and wave the white flag.

Beaten at my own game. Seduced by a shy girl who only has to bite her lip and blush, and all my thought processes come to a screeching halt. My brain, my heart, my dick—we're all…_pussy-whipped_.

"I think I've created a monster," I confess to her, as she attempts to undo the buttons on my jeans and pull off her yoga pants simultaneously.

"Yes, you have. All your fault, _Dr. Sexinstein_," she jokes in a harried breath, rushing to do away with her panties by flinging them with her big toe. When her hand reaches inside my boxers, I shut my eyes tightly in an effort to compose myself, but it doesn't work. Instead, my hands grab the outsides of her thighs, and she wraps her legs around my waist.

The white flag is now a checkered flag.

"Edward," she sighs, as I keep one hand on her thigh and the other, palm-flat, against wall by her head. She grinds against me, her small hand wrapped around me, beckoning me. "Touch me like you did that night, when you told me never to let any man touch me that way," she commands, her eyes blinking slowly, her voice languid and sensual.

She's goading me. And it's working. My mind flashes with images of her naked, hoisted onto the back of her couch, legs spread, back arched. I see my hands pawing at her body, my eyes half-glaring, half-leering at her. I see my thumb rubbing between her legs while I hear the echo of my voice tell her that what I'm touching is mine.

The checkered flag is now a red flag.

This bull is being led by the most deceptively timid matador the world will _never_ know. They'll never know because she's mine and I don't intend to ever let go of her. Not her body, not her mind, not her heart, not her soul.

"Is that all I am, just _any man_?" I ask, deliberately twisting her words when my possessiveness shuts down my logic. I greedily push myself into her, rough and fast. She takes a sharp, deep breath and her eyes go wide before rolling up into her head.

"No, never just any man," she moans when my mouth is on her breast, biting and licking. "The _only_ man," she huffs, as her hands tug fistfuls of my hair and her hips move faster and faster.

"Mine," I growl in her ear, my face fixed in a snarl. "Every. Inch. Of. You."

All the emotions that have been simmering inside of me all day now come to a full boil, and I grapple with the urge to let it all morph into this tidal wave of aggressive, avaricious lust. I slow down and just look into those brown eyes. As always, it's only a matter of seconds before she knows what I'm thinking.

"I want this," she tells me, her breathing hard and fast. "Want you, like this. Bella's Edward…Edward's Bella, there's no difference anymore. Just…love. Show me all the different ways you feel it, please," she murmurs, holding my face in her hands.

"Brown Eyes, I need you so much. Just have to know you're mine, always," I confess, moving faster.

"Yes, always yours," she agrees before kissing me eagerly, her soft tongue urging me on.

In all my years of hopping from one bed to another, of playing with women's bodies to see how fast, how hard, I could elicit a response from them—none of it satisfied me. It gave my libido something to do, and it fed my ego. But it did nothing else, save for leaving me emotionally stunted. Since then, I've found the one woman who satisfies the intense craving I now get for feeling like a whole man, like a complete human being. For that, I will always need her, want her, love her.

I start moving against her more forcefully now, and her moans that accompany my every thrust just fuel the raging fire inside me. It's a fire kept alive and blazing by the ravenous, unreasonable, testosterone-fueled, covetous Neanderthal that would sooner tear another fellow's head clear off his neck than let him ogle what belongs to me, and me alone.

"Jesus, can't…" I try to say, as I pound into her furiously. I lack the sufficient faculties to express myself in words. I can't control myself, can't be bothered to be more gentle, can't untangle my emotions for long enough to act the part I used to play so effortlessly. Everything inside me is too raw, visceral, effusive.

I can't be anyone or anything but myself, feeling exactly as I'm feeling right at this very moment. I need her to love me for it, maybe even despite it.

"Give me. Give me _more_," she moans, confirming my faith in her capacity to see me for who I am, yet be bold enough to demand that I show her everything I once used to hide.

"I want to give you everything. Every last fucking piece of me," I grunt, too worked up and inside my own head to look at her face.

"Edward," she pants, grabbing my chin in her palm, her fingers pressed into my cheeks, and forcing me to look in her eyes. "I _love_ every piece. I love you like every breath might be my last," she confesses, her voice hoarse. "Don't you forget that…_ever_."

"Love you, love you so much," I murmur, watching her moan and writhe, right before her body climaxes as she loudly whimpers my name over and over. Feeling her orgasm as I continue to drive my hips into her sends me over the most amazingly steep, frantic edge of my life, and soon, all I can manage is one last push into her before I cum with a loud, primal growl.

"My beautiful man, my beautiful Edward," she coos, stroking my hair as I struggle to catch my breath.

I don't bother setting her down to stand on her feet, and instead, just carry her into the bedroom, her arms and legs clamped tightly around me, her head resting on my shoulder. She's asleep by the time I gently lay her down on the bed. I shed my jeans and cover us both in a thick, warm blanket before assuming 'smoosher position,' and gingerly resting my hand on a boobkie.

"Good night, Brown Eyes. I love you. This time, I mean it," I whisper softly. When she sighs and smiles in her sleep, I smile back.

As the week progresses, Carlisle and I exchange several more emails. With each correspondence, we fill one another in on the details about our lives. There's an almost too-easy kinship that gradually emerges with every message, and I soon feel comfortable talking about things that are dear to me. I tell him how Bella and I met as neighbors, and how happy we are together, despite seeming like such an odd match.

We 'talk shop' a lot as well, explaining our particular interests in our chosen specialties. I'm amazed that I hadn't heard my father's name mentioned in the past, because, as it turns out, he's one of the most prominent and respected emergency medicine physicians in New England.

When he extends an invitation to Bella and me for Sunday dinner at his house in New Hampshire, I gladly accept, even though I'm still feeling a little nervous over what he'll think of me once we meet me face-to-face.

That Friday evening, I'm being treated to a shared bath filled with chocolaty bubbles, my beautiful Brown Eyes sitting between my legs as I softly massage her soapy shoulders.

"Carlisle emailed me this morning and invited us to dinner at his house on Sunday," I tell her, stroking her neck lightly with my fingertips.

"That's awesome," she replies excitedly, turning her head to the side and smiling broadly at me. "I'm so happy you guys are going to meet," she adds, taking my hand and pressing it to her face.

"Yeah, me too," I agree with a weak smile.

"What? What's wrong?" she asks, sensing the lack of enthusiasm in my voice.

"I'm just…a little nervous, that's all," I reply, but there's more to it than that, and she knows it, too.

She submerges my hands underwater and wraps them around her waist, then leans her head into my collarbone and sighs.

"_Love_, tell me what's really wrong," she requests in a soft voice, reaching her hand behind her to touch my face. I close my eyes and relax against her soothing touch.

"Carlisle knows as little as I do about why my mom never tried to contact him and tell him about me," I say, that familiar weight in the pit of my stomach growing.

"But it's not your fault you don't know much. I doubt he'd hold it against you. That would be pretty unreasonable of him, and he doesn't seem like an unreasonable guy," she assures me.

I actually agree with everything she's saying. Carlisle strikes me as someone who wouldn't even question my role in all this, or why I was kept in the dark. Truthfully, that isn't what's troubling me. Before I can think of something to change the subject, I attempt to push forward and get to the crux of the issue, but I can't.

"I know, he'd understand. That's not it," I mumble.

"Hey, remember what you said last night about not knowing? How it only makes you worry?" she asks, her profile revealing an inquisitively raised eyebrow to me.

"Yeah, I remember," I grumble back, keenly aware of my own hypocrisy.

"Works both ways, buster. Now, out with it," she demands, even though she's stroking my cheek.

I take a deep breath that I exhale slowly through puffed cheeks, but neglect to start speaking.

"Edward, I'm pruning up in here," she complains with a laugh. "What, is there a dismembered James buried in Harvard Yard somewhere? Under old Three Lies?" referring to the nickname of the John Harvard statute that sits outside University Hall.

"No. James is, unfortunately, quite alive and unharmed, as far as I know," I reply, but unable to laugh in turn.

"_Meester Cullenov_," she says with a horrible, very nasal attempt at a Russian accent. "I haff ways of makink you tawk. Tell me uglee capitileest seecret and you keep testeecles, _khorosho_?" she jokes as she turns to face me. "Look, I haff beerd, like Lenin, to make for you chuckles, _da_?" she asks, sticking her bubble goatee out at me.

"Yes, Nastasha Fatale, you make for me chuckles," I agree, laughing heartily. "Just let _this_ Rocky the Flying Squirrel keep his nuts, okay?"

"Hmm," she muses. "Dees time, ees okay," she yields with a thoughtful smile. "But only beekohs nose look lonely," she adds, before kissing the same spot she always does when something is bothering me.

I gently shave off her goatee with the side of my finger and give her a kiss.

"_Nyet, Nyet, Soviet_. Kissing will _not_ distract me," she warns with a smile.

"Okay," I concede. "There's someplace I need to go. And I think you should come with me," I tell her.

"Someplace where, Edward?" she asks. She looks at me thoughtfully as her brow wrinkles and her lips purse.

"It's where I'm pretty sure I can find out more about my mom…about her life," I reply, not really able to say more.

"Wherever it is, just take me," she states simply before stroking my cheek and kissing me warmly.

The next afternoon, we take a half an hour drive south of Boston to the vault that Jenks had arranged for all my mother's and grandparents' things to be stored. This is my first time even going to this place, and I can't for the life of me _want_ to see any of what's there. But I know I _have_ to. I deserve to know what happened, even if it's painful, even if it's completely shitty.

Carlisle, while still just an acquaintance to me at this point—as I have yet to even meet him—he deserves to know, too. My maternal grandfather clearly interfered in my mother and father's relationship, and it caused Carlisle a good deal of unwarranted and completely unnecessary grief. I suspect he needs some sort of resolution and closure, just as much as I do.

Brown Eyes clasps my hand tightly as we exit the car and walk towards the front door of the storage facility. She stops for a moment and looks me, her eyes searching for a read on my emotions. Kissing the back of my hand, she strokes it gently and smiles at me.

"It will be okay," she reassures me. "Trust me."

And with those two last words, my heart stops beating so quickly and the heavy lurch I feel in the pit of stomach lightens considerably.

The receptionist at the front desk greets us with a smile, thanking me for calling ahead to let her know we'd be visiting. She picks up the phone and pages a burly security guard. He arrives promptly, and after checking both my passport and my driver's license, leads Bella and me to a massive stainless steel door.

The guard swipes his security card through a magnetic reader on the door, then, prompts me to punch in my private code onto the key pad under the card reader. After a beep and some clicking sounds, the door is unlocked and the guard gestures for us to step inside. He pleasantly suggests that we take our time and that he'll be waiting right outside until we're finished.

"Edward, this room…is _massive_," Bella declares, her eyes wide as she takes in the huge space around her.

It looks a lot like a miniature library, with large metal shelving arranged in neat rows, each one marked with a note card at the end that describes the row's contents. There's an elaborately-constructed area specifically for art: sculptures, paintings, and small antique furnishings such as lamps and various decorative items. Another spot is reserved for furniture.

After a brief walk around to take in everything around us, one particular row of shelves catches my eye. The note card simply reads 'Libby Masen, New Haven, CT.'

"This is the someplace you needed to go," Bella says softly, stroking the inside of my arm as she clutches it.

"Yeah," is my simple reply.

We scan the boxes that are all so meticulously labeled. I see one marked 'Photos' and pull it off the shelf. Bella and I sit on the floor, sifting through old photographs—most are school pictures of me: yearly class portraits, snapshots from awards I'd won at the end of the year for achievement in science and math.

"My mom loved taking my picture," I recall with a bashful smile.

"Oh, who can blame her? God, you were adorable. Look at that bowl haircut!" she says with a laugh, as she examines my second grade class picture.

"It's only funny to a person who didn't actually have their mom use a _real_ _bowl_ when she cut their hair, Brown Eyes," I shoot back caustically despite laughing along with her.

"Aw, it's sweet, though. And she did take lots of pictures—all of these with you holding up ribbons and certificates. She was so proud of you," she says with a warm smile, as she puts her arm around me.

I feel oddly at peace with looking through these happy memories. What Bella says is true. My mother was proud of me. She told me herself many times. It's peculiar how one's memory tends to filter out the positive experiences, but allows the negative ones to linger and seep over whatever you used to think about with happiness, until you stop thinking about it altogether.

I come across one photograph that's almost too bittersweet to look at. It's from my middle school graduation. There I am, in my cap and gown, just turned fourteen, with my mother's arm wrapped tightly around me. My smile is completely forced to the point of looking like I'm cringing. I remember feeling mortified at my mother's very embarrassing show of affection. It's every teen boy's nightmare to be coddled by his mom in public, let alone having photographic evidence being taken.

Looking back, I wish I'd have cherished that moment a little more instead of letting my adolescent mind wish to God it would be over and done with. I also realize that it's the last photograph taken of my mother and me together—it might even be the last photograph of her at all. She died four months later.

"I have a picture of me with my dad that looks just like that," Bella pipes up, interrupting my thoughts. "Mine was high school graduation. He could _not_ stop telling people I was going to Harvard. You could ask him the time, and he'd say 'it's quarter past four, my daughter's going to Harvard.' Drove me nuts. He blabbed about it to anybody who would listen at graduation. I was so annoyed by the time my mom took a picture of us, that I look like I'm about to punch him," she relates with a shake of her head and a soft laugh.

"But I thought you and your dad got along really well," I say, perplexed.

"We did," she agrees. "But he was still my dad, still did things that made me wish I could pretend we weren't even related," she jokes. "The only difference is now I appreciate that he was so proud," she adds, looking at me, her mouth fixed in a knowing, sad smile. Like always, she effortlessly empathizes with how I'm feeling.

We look through a few more boxes after a time, and I come across a small leather journal that appears rather worn and must be a good many years old. There's an inscription on the inside.

_Happy Birthday, Libby._

_Here's to filling this journal with lots of those brilliant thoughts of yours. _

_Love, Carlisle _

_November, 1980_

The journal is fairly thick, and every page is covered with my mother's handwriting. Before I can read any of it, Bella, who's been glancing at the book along with me, puts her hand over the open pages.

"Edward, let me," she insists.

"I should do this, Brown Eyes. I should be able to," I protest, looking down at her hand.

"No. You _can_, but you shouldn't," she disagrees, sliding the journal from my lax grip.

"Why not?" I ask, thinking that it's about time I am able to face these things on my own.

Brown Eyes takes a deep breath before speaking. "Because there are things you don't need to see first-hand," she gently argues. "Let me back up," she clarifies. "When my dad only had a little time left, and my mom and I were with him, he was in _so_ much pain. I can't tell you how much I wish I'd never seen him like that," she explains in a soft whisper, the memory of it still raw, still pain-provoking.

"I know, Brown Eyes. I know," I reply, kissing her forehead.

"You already saw your mom in pain," she says, her voice sympathetic. "You don't need to relive it. Let me read it. I'll tell you the important parts. If you want, you can take it home…read it when you really _want_ to. Not just because you _should_," she advises, taking my hand and squeezing it.

"Thank you," I reply, hugging her tightly to me.

"Look—there's some old baseball stuff," she says, gesturing at the box that sits a few feet away, my old Louisville slugger sticking out of the top. "Why don't you sort through it? You might find some things in there you'd want to take home," she suggests, giving me an opportunity to busy myself with something else.

Soon, I'm lost in daydreams, memories of childhood little league games and batting practice flooding my mind. It's comforting to go back to that happier time in my life, to reflect on things without them being soured by years of sadness and guilt. While I still carry around this dull ache, it's more a sense of poignancy than a sharp pain.

Twenty minutes or so pass before I notice Brown Eyes softly weeping as she pores over the pages of the journal in her hands.

"Hey," I say softly, looking at her with a mixture of guilt and concern. She puts her hand up and shakes her head vigorously before I get the chance to say anything else.

"Venting, Edward. Just venting," she replies before wiping her eyes with a wadded-up tissue she's most likely been squeezing with her fist.

I go back to examining my childhood mementos, but can't seem to slip back into that nostalgic place in my head quite as easily as I did before. All I can do is fidget and look over at Bella, who continues to sniffle as she turns each page.

"Brown Eyes, I don't think I can distract myself any longer," I say, feeling like she's shouldered enough for me as it is. As much as she insists that she's 'venting,' it's still a strain on her that I'm partially responsible for causing her to bear.

"You first," she replies, causing me to look back at her quizzically. "You tell me what's been making you smile so much for the last half an hour," she elaborates, as a happy glow returns to her face.

"Oh," I answer, understanding her meaning. "This is my old mitt and lucky baseball," I tell her, holding up both items.

"Lucky baseball, huh? What's so lucky about it?" she asks with a smile, despite her red, watery eyes.

"It's lucky because I happened to catch a fly with it," I explain. "It wasn't just any fly, either," I add, becoming more animated as I regale her with my small claim to little league lore. "I played outfield, because even as a kid I had a great eye and could run like my ass was on fire," I say with a laugh.

"You still run fast, at least to me. Not sure if that's saying much," she agrees, her smile getting bigger and her eyes looking brighter.

"And I still have a great eye," I tease. "I know a beautiful woman when I see one," I flirt, pulling her hand so that she curls up next to me.

"Come on, _Shameless Joe Jackson_. More baseball, less trying to round the bases," she scolds playfully.

"I thought you liked my _Big Unit_," I reply, deliberating egging her on.

"Oh, enough, _Randy Johnson_," she snorts, slapping my shoulder. "Tell me the tale of _Cullen at the Bat_ already."

"I wasn't at the bat, I was playing the field," I say with a wink, pushing my luck once again.

"Good Lord," she sighs, rolling her eyes. "That really is gonna be your _one_ lucky ball really soon," she adds, very near the point of jovial exasperation.

"Alright, mistress, don't hurt me," I plead jokingly before continuing. "I was in the outfield, like I said. The game was in the bottom of the ninth. The bases were loaded and my team was up by one. This particular fly looked like it was heading straight out of the park," I recount, the memory of it just as vivid as the day it happened. Bella's eyes widen with anticipation as I keep talking.

"I watched it sail up in the air," I say, pointing toward the ceiling. "All I could so was beg the laws of gravity to bend the rules _just_ this once," I add, closing my eyes as I watch that same baseball soar high above my head.

"And like _that_, my lucky baseball," I describe, holding it up with my fingertips, "suddenly turned into a piece of lead. It landed right in the middle of my glove—like it was just meant to. We won the game and a spot in the division play-offs," I explain with a broad smile, lightly tossing the ball up and down in my hand.

"Aw, that's an awesome story," Bella sighs, leaning her head on my shoulder. "I bet there was lots of joy in Mudville that day," she adds, her voice light, dreamy.

"It was the happiest day of my ten-year-old life. My mom was there. She went to every game," I say with a shy smile. "She took me to my favorite burger joint for a gigantic cheeseburger and a birch beer."

"Will you take me there, maybe, sometime?" Bella asks, her face tentative, hopeful.

"I'd like that," I reply with a smirk. "I'm getting a little hungry, actually. Wanna get out of here and go for a little road trip?"

"To New Haven?"

"Why not? What's a couple of hours' drive for the best cheeseburger you've ever tasted?"

"You fly, I'll buy," she offers.

"You're taking _me_ out on a date?" I quip.

"Let's not get hasty, now. It's just a cheeseburger and a birch beer. I wouldn't read too much into it," she jokes back with a laugh.

I gather up a makeshift collection of items I'd like to take home, mostly made up of things like photographs, my lucky baseball, some skeletal models I did as a kid (Bella enjoys teasing me about those), and even some of my old toys and games. Bella adds my mother's journal to the small pile of mementos that I place in a cardboard box.

We thank the guard and the receptionist before making our way outside and to the car. I pop the trunk open, setting the box down. Bella peers over at some of the contents.

"Hey, a Rubik's cube," she spies, pointing at the plastic multi-colored toy. I pick it up and inspect it quickly. "You never even played with it?" she asks, noticing the colors all perfectly arranged on every side.

"Yeah, I did. Um," I say, pursing my lips and knitting my brows as I try to remember. "I got it for my ninth birthday. I solved it in about…half an hour, maybe? Never played with it much after that," I shrug.

"Show off," she grumbles, getting into her side of the car.

The drive to New Haven goes relatively quickly. There isn't a great deal of traffic, and we pass the time exchanging stories from our childhood and teen years. Bella's humorous anecdotes almost always involve some kind of physical injury or pratfall. She tells me about her 'massive headgear' and the way her braces made her feel as if everyone stared at her when she spoke or smiled.

"I bet you were beautiful, even then," I tell her genuinely.

"Ugh. No, I was not," she replies with a resolute tone to her voice. "I hated being a teenager," she says with a resigned sigh.

Imaging a teenaged Bella, so shy, yet pretty in her own completely unique and natural way, spirals into a daydream about the possibility of _me_ being the father a teen daughter. Before I know it, I'm setting up 6pm curfews for her, chaperoning her _everywhere_, and banning anything with a penis from getting within a 500-foot radius of my home.

"Edward?" Bella says, looking over at me with a surprised expression. "Are you okay?" she asks, putting her hand on my thigh.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?" I reply, looking over at her briefly while still trying to watch the road.

"Well," she begins, "for one thing, you're scowling like you want to strangle someone. And it looks like you're practicing on the steering wheel right now," she adds, pointing at my vein-bulging, white knuckles. She's right, I do look like I'm trying to murder my car, and I'm now conscious of the fact that the muscles in my face are pulled into an intense glower.

"Sorry," I offer. "I was just daydreaming, and I guess I got a little lost there for a second," I explain, as I blink several times to clear my mind a little.

"Lost? Not sad or angry?" she asks, looking at me curiously.

"No, just, uh…" I stumble awkwardly.

"You're face is turning red like a beet. What the heck is going on?" she laughs.

"I was, uh, just thinking about what it would be like to, you know, that _someday_ conversation we had last week," I stammer.

"Uh oh," she giggles. "_You_ with a teen daughter?" she says with a snort. "That would be…what's the word?" she pretends to struggle. "I dunno, what's more ironic than the word 'ironic,' Edward?" she asks with mock sweetness, grinning at me.

"Snidely, sardonically ironic?" I offer, conceding her point.

"Snardironic. Definitely," she replies, agreeing with a guffaw and kissing my cheek.

We soon pull up to the curb in front of a small, fairly non-descript brick building with a bright red door and shutters. It looks like any other old building in New England, except that it's absolutely packed, with an ample line of people flowing out the door despite the fact that it's 3:00 in the afternoon—way past lunch, and too early for dinner. This place is different, though. It's legendary.

"I expected it would be crowded, but not this bad," I explain, looking out my window. "It's worth the wait, though. Is that okay?" I ask.

"Sure," she answers with an accommodating smile.

Forty-five stomach-growl-filled minutes later, I order 'two cheese works, a salad, a birch and a cream,' because if you don't speak Louis parlance, they tell you to go buy your burger at McDonald's. And they mean it.

"Oh, this is…" Bella tries to say, closing her eyes and humming to herself as she chews on a cheeseburger almost too big for her to hold up, even with two hands.

"It defies description," I reply in agreement, taking a huge bite of my burger.

"You had good times here, huh?" she asks, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.

"Yeah, when I was a kid, mostly. I avoided the place when I was here as an undergrad," I explain, referring to my years at Yale.

"Did you like being back in New Haven?" she asks, tilting her head and smiling slightly.

"It was okay. I mean, maybe I wanted to feel close to my mom, even if she wasn't around physically. I didn't really think about it. Andover has a way of just funneling people here," I explain.

"I guess so. But they also funnel people to Harvard and Princeton, right? You didn't _have_ to come here," she coaxes.

"I suppose," I offer. "Yeah," I add in a soft confession. Brown Eyes takes my hand and wraps her fingers around it.

In truth, I really tried my best not to think about my mother a lot. I used to celebrate her birthday by getting plastered when I was younger. As the years passed, I'd simply work the entire 24 hours if it was possible, or I'd simply prefer to be alone.

Ever since that first time I slept with Brown Eyes, I'd been thinking more and more about my mom. Initially, I hadn't even understood why—all I felt was guilt, anger, sadness. Eventually, things began to give way to curiosity about my past, especially after seeing my grandmother at the hospital.

But today was different. Today was the first time in a long, long time that I could look back and actually smile. I could think back with simple, uncluttered contentment.

We finish eating up our burgers, and I go back to the counter to order some pie while Brown Eyes gathers up our paper plates into a tidy pile that she pushes to the far corner of our table.

"Brown Eyes," I begin, taking a deep breath as I sit back down at our rickety wooden booth, two pieces of homemade apple pie in hand. "What was in my mom's journal?" I ask, finally acknowledging the giant pink elephant that had been with us for the last several hours.

"I was waiting for you to ask," she says, patting my cheek.

"I'm ready to hear it now," I reply with a nod, my mouth set in a firm line.

"It's pretty much what I expected," she answers simply. "Her dad interfered a lot. Like Carlisle hinted at, your grandfather clearly didn't approve of your mom being with a guy who wasn't from the same social circle as the Masens," she explains.

"Did she know Carlisle went to Chicago looking for her?" I ask.

"Yes, but she was told something completely different from what really happened," she says softly.

"My grandfather?" I guess, before she nods in affirmation.

"Well, the way your mom mentions it, seems like her dad planted this idea in her head—or it was _his theory_, at least—that Carlisle was just an opportunist. Her dad told her that, over and over, ever since he found out she was pregnant," she says, her voice heavy with sadness.

"I guess my grandfather just saw the world in a different way," I try to rationalize. I remember my own thoughts in the car, about the kind of father I would be to a young daughter. If she were smart, pretty…I'd want to _kill_ the guy.

"Still, I don't think he did your mom any favors, really. In the end, he broke her heart. Twice, in fact," Bella replies with a frown.

"What do you mean?"

"He told your mom that Carlisle had come, but was only interested in marrying her for her money. She refused to believe him. They argued, and your grandfather told her he offered Carlisle a bunch of cash as a test," she reveals, shaking her head slowly. She no doubt can't comprehend the lengths my grandfather was capable of going to in order to manipulate people and get what he wanted.

"And he told my mom Carlisle accepted it?" I deduce. Bella simply nods her head again. "Why would my mom believe that?" I wonder out loud.

"It looks like it was a slow progression—this doubt her dad planted in her head. She never knew about Carlisle calling her, or sending her letters or messages. She doesn't mention any of that. In fact, I'm pretty sure your grandparents intercepted everything. Your mom wrote about missing him, wondering why he didn't call or write. I think she was too proud to reach out to him, especially with her dad constantly telling her stuff that made Carlisle look bad," she surmises.

I rub my forehead with my fingertips and try to absorb all of this new information. I wish I'd have known this sooner. I wish a lot of things, actually. Mostly, I crave the chance to go back in time and somehow get my parents to where they should have been all along—together and happy. My mom would be alive. I'd have a father who was there my whole life.

"You said my grandfather broke my mom's heart twice?" I ask, knowing there must be more to this, namely, what ended my mother's relationship with her parents.

Bella looks uncomfortable as her face becomes a true reflection of what must have been heartbreaking for her to read.

"Just tell me," I urge, taking both her hands.

"When you were born, your grandfather came to the hospital and tried talking your mother into giving you up. He gave her some papers to sign. She was smart enough to read them first, but while she did, you started crying. She asked him to leave so she could have some privacy to feed you and to rest.

Once he left her room, she packed all her things and took off—no discharge, nothing. She just…left. She got as much cash out of the bank as she could and flew back here. The journal ended when you were still a baby, but she already got an apartment with a friend from school who helped watch you while she looked for a job," she reveals, as she strokes both my hands with her thumbs.

"That's what my mom meant," I say, as something I'd been told years ago suddenly clicks with clarity and significance.

"Meant by what?" Bella asks, her brow furrowed.

"When I'd ask her why she'd cry…you know, when she'd been drinking," I explain uncomfortably. "She'd say 'I'd be crying a lot more if I didn't have you'," I add.

"Yes," she agrees, fidgeting with my pinky. "It's why she 'left Chicago in Chicago'," she adds, repeating another of my mother's cryptic phrases.

"Thank you, Brown Eyes, for reading that," I say, stroking her cheek.

"It wasn't all sad, you know," she says, her warm, compassionate eyes looking at me. "Your mom, she loved you…in a way that was intense and beautifully pure. Just so caring and amazing. You were the _only thing_ that mattered to her."

"I wasn't enough to make her happy, Brown Eyes," I say plainly. It's the truth.

"You can't look at it that way. You just can't," she pleads, her round eyes becoming sad. "In her mind, you were everything that they weren't," she says, her face earnest.

"Who?" I ask, despite feeling a keen sense of dejection.

"Your grandfather. Carlisle. You're named after them: one for his first name, the other for his last."

"I know. And it makes absolutely no sense to me why I would be, considering the circumstances," I reply.

"Edward," Bella says softly, before kissing the palms of both my hands and briefly pressing them to her face.

"Your mom wrote that she wanted to name you after the two men she loved and admired more than anyone. But they were also the two men that hurt her the most, so, she wanted to raise their namesake to be the man they should've been to her. And you were. She loved you, and you loved her. You never made her sad—only proud, happy," she tells me, her soulful eyes once again conveying all the emotion and heart that she so easily shares with me.

I fight back an intense wave of the hollow, empty feeling that used to be so comforting to me. My mind had formed its own way of coping, by going blank; by pushing everything into its darkest, deepest recesses where it couldn't touch me. The struggle to just let myself feel is so difficult for me that I merely sit there motionless, staring at the aged, carved grooves and scratches on the wooden table in front of me.

Brown Eyes looks at me and quickly clears away our plates before grabbing my hand and pulling me up. We walk back to the car, and when she takes the keys from my hand, I let her. She ushers me into the backseat and slides in besides me as she shuts the door.

"It's okay if you're sad, Edward. It's okay," she repeats softly, stroking my hair as I rest my head on her lap and cry harder than I ever have in my entire adult life.

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**DUN DUN DUN!**

**OK, we meet Carlisle in the next chapter. I was going to write it all in one update, but this was already 10K words and I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer, so I'm splitting it in two. I'll get the next chapter up soon. I have most of it outlined (er, in my head.) It will again be in TNGUSPOV.**

**Jebus, this a/n is its own chapter. I just wanted to fill you guys in on some background. Feel free to skip right over it. ;o)**

**Okay, so Harvard Yard is basically the grassy expanse around the campus buildings. **

**The statue of John Harvard is nicknamed 'Three Lies' because the engraving under it reads 'John Harvard, Founder, 1638.' All three of these things are factually inaccurate, and if you're a smarty-pants Harvard student, you feel the need to point those things out. First, the statue isn't based on a likeness of him, since the sculptor had no paintings or drawings to work from, and John himself was long since pushing up daisies. So, some random student was used as a model. Second, Harvard did not found the school. He was actually one of its first graduates and bequeathed the trustees a sizeable amount of money and books, so they decided to rename the school after him. Third, the school was founded in 1636, two years earlier than the date on the engraving. Oh, and people rub his left foot for good luck during finals. Like you need luck when you're sharp enough to go there.**

_**Nyet, Nyet, Soviet**_** is an early 80s 'new wave' single by BB Gabor. Don't ask me how I can remember that but not what I ate for breakfast this morning.**

"**Shameless Joe Jackson" is a variation of the nickname for (in)famous 'Shoeless' Joe Jackson, whose career was over when he was implicated in a bribery plot to throw the world series. His reputation never fully recovered. Even almost 60 years after his death, he's still on Major League Baseball's banned list, making him ineligible for induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame.**

"**Big Unit" is the nickname for Randy Johnson, newly retired from the San Francisco Giants. He's 6'10 and throws a mean fastball. But seriously, does a name like Randy Johnson even need a nickname?**

"**Cullen at the Bat" and "Mudville" are references to the ubiquitous **_**Casey at the Bat**_** by Ernest Thayer. Read it here: en(dot)wikipedia(dot)org / wiki / Casey_at_the_Bat**

**Birch beer is similar to root beer, and a classic favorite in New England.**

**Louis' Lunch, a real establishment in New Haven, claim they invented the hamburger. And will toss you out if you ask for ketchup. www(dot)louislunch(dot)com**

**Just one housekeeping note: if you'd like access to Apples & Oranges, please PM me. Make sure your PMs **_**aren't disabled**_**. I get PMs that I can't reply to! This makes me sad. Also, A/O is on hiatus until TNGUS is done, but I will finish it, I promise.**

**Tune in next time. Again, thanks for reading! ::MWAH::**


	26. Chapter 26

**Hello and thank you for joining the story once again.**

**I have roughly eleventy bajillion people to thank. Please bear with me!**

**I'm so grateful to each and every person who reads this story. TNGUS now has over 10K reviews and I can't help but be astonished by that.**

**Much love to my beta and friend Nina, aka WriteOnTime. In the home stretch now, and I couldn't have done it without your guidance.**

**Lots of hugs and kisses to Rie, aka goldenmeadow, for pre-reading.**

**More thanks and gratitude to DragonsExist, Miztrezboo, Beks, and Pinkpixiechick for advice and encouragement.**

**Tammy, aka Teacher1209, provided all the biblical references. Thank you! My girl lil j, aka Jamieson Z, supplied me with info about kicks and martial arts. She's a Taekwondo instructor and I don't advise getting on her nerves for obvious reasons.**

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**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

**This is TNGUSPOV.**

A thick fog slowly clears from my mind as I wake from a deep, yet truly uncomfortable sleep. Granted, as a former med student and now a resident, I'm quite used to sleeping wherever and whenever I can. But at the moment, I feel as if my entire body was put through a trash compactor. Every muscle aches as if it's been folded over itself repeatedly.

I begin to become coherent enough to attempt to take in my surroundings, slowly opening my eyes and making as generous an effort to lift my head as I possibly can. My neck, however, is so kinked and stiff that it has other ideas—namely, that it refuses to move. Instead, my throat takes it upon itself to merely groan.

"Hey, sleepy head. We're home," I hear Brown Eyes say.

"Hmmph?" is my only reply.

"You fell asleep," she tells me. Somehow I'm already aware of that, but just barely.

"Umf?" I ask, as if that's English, or any spoken language.

"Home, Edward. We're home," she explains again.

My hands rub the sleep from my eyes as I will myself back to being fully conscious. I soon discover the cause of my body's abysmally uncomfortable position—I've been asleep in the backseat of my Volvo.

"You drove my car?" I ask, soon realizing that my questions are progressing from incoherent mumbling to queries that don't really require answers due to their absurdity. It's not as if my car drove itself.

"Yeah. I didn't think you'd mind. Or notice. You were out like a light. I didn't have the heart to wake you," she answers, peeking at me over her shoulder from where she sits in the driver's seat.

"Didn't know you could drive a stick," I say, before yawning and trying to stretch with little success.

"I drive your stick all the time," she snickers.

"How come your crude jokes are funny and mine aren't?" I grouse, noting her healthy sense of humor when it comes to her own punch lines.

"Hey, you know the saying," she giggles. "Sleep with a horn dog…"

"Wake up in the backseat of your own car but with no used condom on the floor mat?"

"Cullen," she snorts as she climbs over the center console and simply lies on top of me. There's not much space as it is, so I grudgingly allow myself to be sandwiched between her and the upholstery, and merely emit a low groan in defeated protest.

"You're like school in the summer," she continues in a funny voice, "no class." When I look at her like she's grown a second head, she quickly explains (complete with rolling eyes), that while I was busy solving my Rubik's Cube and building model skeletons, _some kids_ were losing brain cells watching cartoons.

"I have lots of class. For you, anyway. I'm the professor, remember?" I tease.

"Professor," she says, using a different funny voice, "what's another word for pirate treasure?"

"Booty?" I guess, lightly smacking hers for good measure.

"Booty, that's what it is," she giggles into my ear.

"Pain in my neck," I grumble.

"Hey! I just drove you home for three hours. You're welcome, butthead," she complains good-naturedly, before lightly punching my bicep.

"No. Not you," I explain. "Literally. My neck is killing me," I pout, rubbing it ineffectively with my fingers.

"Aw, you're always a pain in my neck. So I just figured you meant me," she offers, batting her eyelashes.

"If that's your way of apologizing, it's sadly lacking, if you want my opinion," I reply, trying to kiss her but unable to move my head. I wince before I even get close to her lips.

"Eh, I wasn't asking for it. But I am sorry your neck hurts," she consoles, kissing it softly.

"Can we go inside before I sustain permanent tissue damage?" I plead, my joints creaking in places I never even noticed I had joints before.

"Hey, I've only been trying to wake you up this entire time," she giggles as we both sit upright.

"Where'd you learn to drive a manual?" I ask.

"I have a truck in Phoenix that's older than…I don't even know how old it is, now that I think about it," she muses. "But it's a manual. And very, very stubborn."

"Needs a certain, delicate touch before you can make it purr?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"No, more like I have to turn it over hard and stomp on it, repeatedly," she replies, wrinkling her nose at me. I know her comment is meant in jest, but I'm unable to play along as I feel my mood grow dark.

The memory of how I fell asleep begins to dawn on me.

My head hurts. My neck hurts. But my pride hurts more. My pride hurts a lot, actually. As does my ego and my masculinity.

"Gee, if I didn't feel like a wuss before…" I gripe, unable to completely verbalize my thoughts.

It's because I _do_ feel like a wuss. The last thing I remember is crying like a baby on my girlfriend's lap. Jesus. I'm getting distinctly irritated from all this _feeling_. I wish it would go away. I'm just _tired_. My fucking body hurts all over from this.

"A wuss? Why?" Brown Eyes asks me, the smile from our playful fighting quickly fading from her face.

"You know," I stammer. "Crying all over you, like, a, you know…"

"Like a _girl_?" she asks pointedly, quirking that same inquisitive eyebrow at me.

"I was going to say 'pussy,' but 'girl' works, too," I huff with indignation as I rub my leg. The denim of my jeans roughly scrapes the back of my knuckles.

I'm staring down at my lap, so I only hear Bella gasp in disgust at my words. I can imagine the expression on her face; it's not necessary for me to look. I'm sure she thinks I'm being an ass. I feel like one, due both in part to my actions a few hours ago and the way I'm behaving now. I know I'm being unreasonable and surly. I just don't give a rip.

"Edward," she snaps. "That's a shitty thing to say," she begins before I cut her off.

"I wholeheartedly apologize for insulting your gender," I offer up with heavy sarcasm.

"Would you stop being a jerk? You are _feasting_ on your foot at this rate, Edward. Not just sticking it in your mouth," she shoots back.

"I'm going inside," I say simply, pulling the handle on the door and giving it an unceremonious shove. I stalk down the sidewalk toward the brownstone.

"Hey, you!" Bella calls out from behind me. I turn on my heel just in time to put my hand up to my face, where I barely manage to separate my nose from my keys, the latter being hurled at me with great force. I simply turn back around again and keep walking.

When I hear her clumsy footsteps catching up to me, I increase my pace. As soon as I'm certain there's a safe distance between us, I feel a foot kick me, right in the back of my knee. This causes it to reflexively buckle, and my entire leg gives out. My muscles are too tired to react in time to help me right myself; and so I fall forward, landing on all fours.

"Happy now?" I growl, my breath whooshing in and out from my flared nostrils.

"Ecstatic," she chokes out, walking past me as I watch her feet stomp across the pavement. I raise my head in time to see her head slump forward and her shoulders shake, just like I'd seen before.

Only this isn't venting. This is real crying.

I manage to catch up, partly because I'm so hopped up on adrenaline that I sprint the rest of the way, and partly because Bella's all-too-cluttered purse makes her stop to fumble for her keys before she can slip into her own apartment and slam the door in my face.

Coming up to her from behind, I wrap my arm around her waist and carry her like football. This leaves my other arm free so I can unlock my own door.

"Put me down, Edward," she orders, her anger flaring. "I'm serious, put me down!" She tries to wiggle out of my grasp, but I've got a pretty tight hold around her, having made the prudent decision to use my stronger right arm rather than my left.

I don't answer and simply go up the remaining flight of stairs, ignoring her yelling and swatting at my calf with her purse.

"Happy now?" she mimics, after I set her down inside my living room. She blows at the hair covering her face with a pissed-off huff of her breath.

"Ecstatic," I mimic back. My breathing is just as ragged as hers. Normally, it wouldn't make me so winded to carry Brown Eyes such a short way, but between my aching body, sagging energy, and rapidly depleting patience, my lungs burn from the effort it took to breathe.

"Quit being like this. What's gotten into you?" she asks angrily, looking at me with a mixture of aggravation and hurt. She quickly shakes her head as if to take back the question she just asked. She doesn't even want to know anymore. "Why did you even drag me up here, just to be a _manly_ jackass?" she taunts, trying to push past me to reach the door.

If she leaves, I know she will start to cry the minute she shuts the door behind her. She doesn't deserve this. I'm not angry at her. I'm angry at myself. I'm being an incorrigible shit, and I'm forcing her to bear the brunt of my sour mood. I can't push away the only person who truly knows me, loves me, takes care of me.

"Don't go," I say simply. "Please," I offer, silently urging myself to calm the hell down. Her hand rests on the front doorknob, but soon falls limply to her side. When I ask her to please sit and let me get us both a drink, she nods.

I return to the room a few minutes later with two generously-filled glasses of wine. Gently taking a seat next to her, I set our drinks down on the coffee table. We're silent for a moment, just sipping our wine and allowing ourselves both an opportunity to quell our tempers so that we can think instead of just react.

"I didn't especially like being weak in front of you," I confess, twisting the stem of my wine glass with my fingertips.

"You weren't being weak," she quickly answers, frowning deeply.

"Brown Eyes," I interject.

"Listen to me for a sec, okay?" she insists. "Please," she adds, using the same tone in her voice as mine when I uttered the same word just a few minutes prior. I nod my head.

"I had some time to think in the car while you were asleep. I thought about who you were when I met you and who you are now. When you were 'that guy'…he used to ask me how well I knew myself. It's a little ironic, looking back, because I don't think 'that guy' knew himself from a rat's ass, if I may be so bold," she says, her irritation peaking.

"I thought I did," I argue weakly.

"Do you think 'that guy' was brave? Macho? Because he never cried in front of someone?" she asks, looking at me with skepticism. "'That guy' was a coward, Edward. Instead of knowing who he was, he pretended he was someone else," she explains, shaking her head.

"That's not what I meant when I asked that. It wasn't some deep philosophical question. I was just…coming on to you," I say, dismissing her reading too much into the lines I used to throw at her.

"Maybe," she says, smiling for a brief second. "But you were right. I didn't know myself—not in that way. But you didn't know much either, not in the way _I_ mean. But you do now. And _that_ took guts, Edward," she declares with honest sincerity.

"I only did what you helped me with," I say with a shrug.

"Will you let this go?" she asks, looking exasperated.

"Let what go?" I question back in confusion.

"Stop being determined to find fault or blame yourself. Stop selling yourself short. It's not right. It 'insults us both.' Remember?" she persists.

She sighs heavily when, instead of a reply, I merely shrug at her again.

"Like I've said, after losing my dad, I made a choice for myself: to live in the here and now, to be happy…because I spent too much time feeling sorry for myself and having regrets. And I want you to be happy, too," she confesses, her brows drawn together, her lips forming a frown.

"Brown Eyes," I begin, feeling even more remorseful over how I'm making her feel. "I need to pull myself together. I lean on you entirely too much. I'm a grown man…"

"I'm not doing this just for you," she says, holding up her hand to interrupt me. "You have no idea what it feels like to see you get the chance I'll never have. You get your dad back," she says as her eyes become red. I put my arm around her, the desire to soothe her overtaking my every thought.

"And that _doesn't_ make me sad," she insists. "It's like watching someone you love win the most amazing thing ever—something a lot better than money or 'things,'" she says in a gentle voice. Her expression softens, becomes tender, heartfelt. "This is the closest I'll ever get to having my own dad again. Do you know...how _awesome_ that is?"

It's simply astounding that she's stuck by me through all this, not as a favor, not to be self-sacrificing, but because she derives her own happiness from it. Thinking back to how everything has grown between us, we share a bond that has evolved into something not just meaningful, but transcendent, all-encompassing.

I feel like a monumental ass for behaving the way I did tonight. It wasn't fair to make her the focus of my shitty mood. I can't think of anything to say or do but to genuinely apologize.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper, Brown Eyes," I offer, holding her tightly to me. I'm relieved when she shifts over and hops onto my lap. It's where she belongs.

"Sorry I got mad, too," she replies.

"I wasn't mad at you— just frustrated in general," I explain.

"I know you were. I was, too. You probably thought I was pissed for calling yourself a 'girl' or a 'pussy' or whatever. But I wasn't. I was mad that…you know, you didn't think it was okay to get upset," she explains, subconsciously tapping a sort of Morse Code on my palm with the tip of her index finger.

"I'm just tired. Worn out. All of this has been exhausting. I just hit a wall, I guess," I offer, not really able to explain it any other way.

"It gets better. Trust me," she reassures, stroking my cheek. "It won't always hurt so much," she adds, smiling weakly. "Besides, crying is kinda like…the toilet flushing of the soul, to put it poetically," she jokes before giggling.

"That is probably the most profound notion I have ever heard," I deadpan, putting my hand over my heart. "Combining the two most important things in a man's life: personal growth and bodily functions. You're the best girlfriend _ever_, Brown Eyes," I playfully profess to her.

"See, just don't let your toilet clog up," she informs me with an adamant shake of her head and a wide grin. This has got to be the crudest analogy I've ever heard in my life, but it works for me regardless.

"You say the most endearing sweet nothings to me, Brown Eyes. And you wonder why I'm so possessive," I quip making a '_tsk_' sound with my tongue. Soon we begin chuckling insanely, and it doesn't take long before chuckling gives way to full-on laughs, with Brown Eyes shaking uncontrollably on my lap.

"Stop, stop laughing," she pants. "It's making me laugh more. Shut up!" she snorts. She covers my mouth with her hand, but all it does is make me laugh harder. We've clearly become a little drunk on the wine, and just plain punchy.

"See, now we're both crying," she says softly as she grazes her thumb across my cheek to wipe away my laughter-induced tear. I do the same with my thumb across her cheek.

"I like this kind better," I observe with a bright smile, pulling her closely to me and rubbing my chin against the top of her head.

"You can cry any way you like, Edward. I would never think less of you for it. You should know that by now," she scolds in a gentle voice. I hum my agreement and kiss her brown hair. A comfortable silence settles us both down, and I contemplate the events of the day.

Looking back, I try to discern exactly why I needed to cry earlier. Was it all sadness? Not really. Relief? No, nothing about why mom drank so much gives me any sense of relief. Regret? A little. She was too young, too good, to be so torn up inside, and I regret not trying to help her. But I was a kid. There was no way for me to fully appreciate what was happening to her and to be able to do something about it.

And like that, it hits me.

Grief. I feel grief. My mother's death was the last thing I seriously cried over. To be completely honest with myself, I probably didn't cry enough at the time. At the very least, it wasn't enough for me to have genuinely moved past her death.

"Edward? You okay?" Bella asks, looking up at my face and no doubt noticing its faraway expression.

"Yeah, just thinking," I answer as I take her hand in mine. "Nothing I shouldn't have figured out a long time ago. But I think I get it now," I add.

"Better late than never, you know," she replies, tilting her head and smiling.

"Better late than never," I repeat with a slow nod.

I grimace when I try to ease the tension in my neck by rolling my head from to side to side, and this prompts Brown Eyes to offer to run me a hot shower which I don't hesitate to take her up on.

Leading me by the hand down the hallway and into the bathroom, she quickly helps me undress as the room fills with steam.

I softly murmur an '_uh uh_' and shake my head when she attempts to leave the room. Grasping her wrist in my hand, I pull her back toward me and kneel in front of her. I slowly peel off her clothes, starting with the socks on her feet, and mindful to caress her shapely ankles and kiss her calves. Next, I unbutton her jeans, my fingers sliding down the sides of her legs as I push the material down and away from her body. My index fingers loop around either side of her panties, my knuckles grazing her small hips. I look up at her as I gingerly kiss the shimmery fabric that covers her pubic bone.

Her light smile and pink blush incites the urge to simply tear the skimpy piece of lace right off of her, but I restrain myself. _Good things come to those who wait_. Good men who wait, especially. So, instead, I gently pull her panties off, and tilt my head to the side to rub my cheek against her hand when she lightly grips my shoulder for balance.

She pulls her shirt off right before I wrap my arms around her. Kissing her middle, I close my eyes as I lean into her, still on my knees. I feel her hand in my hair, her fingers softly massaging my scalp.

"Edward," she says, before tilting my chin up so that I look at her face. "Don't kneel in front of me. Stand next to me," she urges. "Don't ever kneel, just lean on me…when you need to," she tells me. Her wide, beautiful eyes reflect the affection in her words.

Taking her outstretched hands, I lift myself up to stand. She's right, I don't need to kneel. I don't need to feel prostrate, overcome, disconsolate. I don't have to live with any of that when I have her hands in mine. They pull me up out of the meaningless, hollow place I once used to dwell.

We take our time, washing each other, touching, kissing, laughing. We towel off and Bella fixes her hair while I light kindling and wood inside the fireplace in my bedroom.

_It should be our bedroom. It _is_ our bedroom. We just don't call it that. Not yet, anyway._

Soon, we curl up in bed, unable to stave off the fatigue garnered from a very long, very emotionally-charged day.

"Sleep, sweet girl," I whisper. She hums happily before burrowing her face into my collarbone.

I wake up the next morning as dawn begins. Several rays of the sunrise begin to poke through the slanted slats of the window blinds. I open my eyes to find us both lying on our sides, her back facing me. My arm is outstretched and my wrist is bent at an odd angle in front of me, and it's because I've got my hand on one of my boobkies, but the person it's connected to is a good distance away. I wonder briefly, if, when push came to grope, I would ever dislocate my shoulder in lieu of losing hold of my favorite nocturnal accoutrements.

Slowly easing my arm away from her and laying it on the space between us, I study Bella's curvy sleeping form and listen to the light sound of her breathing. No longer satisfied with merely watching, I very gently trace the outline of her side with my fingertips, starting with her shoulder and going all the way down to her mid-thigh. The blanket on top of her softly surrounds the dips and crests of her flawless feminine frame—so womanly, earthy, sensual.

"Edward," she murmurs in her sleep, my name slipping her lips as lightly as the puff of air carrying it. Asleep or not, I'll take that as an invitation.

_I may not be 'that guy,' but I am a man._

Pressing up against her, I wrap my hand around her waist and dip my nose into her neck, allowing myself a nice, long whiff of chocolate lotion, her floral shampoo, and that unmistakable scent of _her_—whatever it is exactly—pheromones, her skin's natural oils, I'm not sure. But the 'memory' of it is very securely stored away in my mind; I recognize it on my clothes, on the sheets and pillowcases.

I take her happy sigh and soft moan as further invitation, especially since my sniffing causes my warm breath to turn her skin prickly and bumpy. Her hips start moving slowly as I kiss her shoulder, then her neck and along her jaw. A delicate 'ooh' escapes her when my tongue flicks her earlobe, and I smirk to myself when her nipple pebbles up against my palm.

Cupping my body around hers completely, I rub and stroke myself against her, my hand roaming from her breast, to her abdomen, to between her legs.

Turning her head to the side to look at me, she whispers 'yes' and gently nudges me with her soft little ass. To me, she is perfect in this moment—a complete woman, so honestly beautiful, all curves and breasts and hips and thighs. I want nothing more than to be inside her, to stroke in and out of her, to hear her moan until she pants and loses her breath, to hear my name roll languidly from her lips in a long, low groan. Those things are so perfect, so incredibly _right_.

I ease into her slowly, my hand on her hip, swiveling it back toward me. Warmth and wetness wrap around me and I know Bella is the only woman I will ever touch like this. Only my beautiful Brown Eyes has this one place for me—where my body connects with my soul.

"My Edward…my _everything_," she gasps as our hips rock in tandem. My finger plays with that little wet bud between her legs until the rest of her blooms open and overflows, awakening that familiar sensation: the exquisite pulsating and fluttering of her body around me.

"Brown Eyes," I murmur. "My sweetest flower, I love you," I whisper as my arm forms a tight iron-grasp around her waist and my fingers curl around her shoulder. I need to hold her, press her body into mine as tightly as I can. There can't be any space between us—not our bodies, not our minds, not our hearts. When I'm satisfied that I can't be any closer, I rub my lips against her temple as my entire body goes rigid and I cum inside her.

Feeling utterly spent in the best possible way, I rest my cheek against the side of her head. I whisper shakily into her ear that I promise to do everything I can to make her happy, and I mean every fucking word.

"Sleep, sweet man," she tells me as she reaches over her head to pat my whisker-stubbed cheek. Once my palm finds her breast and I close my eyes, stumbling into a blissful unconsciousness.

My favorite weekend ritual has to be breakfast with Brown Eyes. The best part of my Sunday, bar none, is waking up to the smell of eggs, toast, turkey sausage, and fresh-brewed coffee. Okay, well, the best part of my day happened earlier—around dawn—but the second delicious enticement to wake me up again isn't all that bad, either.

"Look who the omelet dragged in," Brown Eyes teases with a cheerful smile as I kiss her cheek 'good morning.' She's pouring my mug of coffee and is just about to set the table.

"Oh, you complain now, sweet girl. Just wait til you're stuck on the Sunday crossword. See if you get any help from me," I taunt.

"Hmmph!" she answers with deep, albeit playful, disdain. "Doctors and their god complexes," she mutters, practically hurling the food onto my plate.

"God, indeed, Brown Eyes," I say with mock sincerity as I park myself in front of my breakfast. "It's God I want to praise for giving me a woman who slings hash _and_ insults. And she looks incredibly sexy doing all of it," I say with a lascivious wink as I fluff my napkin before resting it on my lap. "Even though it causes me to, you know, fear for my mortal life," I add with feigned fear.

"Such an asshole," is her simple reply. She shakes her head at me, but doesn't hold a grudge for too long. Soon, she watches my lips curl into a smirk and she laughs despite herself.

It's not the first time she's made a comparison between me, and, to put it in medical terms, a _sphincter ani externus_. I suppose I deserve it. Aside from being a hospital resident and trained physician, making a pest of myself around her is almost a calling for me, and it has been since I met her. I'm a man of few hobbies, and I find this to be gratifying on a level I cannot adequately describe.

"How is it that you're the one wronged here? As I recall, last night someone assaulted me on my way inside the brownstone," I tease, mischievously tilting my head at her as I jokingly rub the back of my knee for emphasis. "I meant to talk to you about your stealthy ninja moves. Nice side-kick you have there."

"Eh, he's okay. He can be asshole, though," she jokes back, smiling sweetly at me as she butters her toast.

"I'm not the sidekick. You are," I inform her with a mild air of superiority.

"Pff, not likely," she huffs before sipping her coffee.

"You want to be the superhero? Fine. You can be the superhero," I offer, trying to be gallant. I'm nothing if not always a gentleman in my attempts to appease her.

"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" she teases, sticking her tongue out at me.

"You are extremely villainous, I'll say that. And treacherous. Evil, too," I reply with heavy sarcasm, laughing at the idea of Brown Eyes as a crime-committing ne'er do-well. "Although, you dressed as Catwoman? I think I'd like that," I add, chewing my food and humming to myself as I picture her dressed in a tight, shiny, black vinyl suit.

"Mmmhmm," she nonchalantly agrees while studying the crossword. "Oh hey, what's a seven letter word meaning 'chocolate covered starfish'?"

"Asshole?" I reply without a fight, knowing I've walked right into this.

"That's the one!" she exclaims, grinning from ear-to-ear and pointing her pencil at me.

Later that afternoon, we get ready for the drive up to New Hampshire to meet Carlisle. I'm looking over maps and directions online even though my car has a reliable navigation system.

"That's the third set of point-to-point directions you're printing out, Edward," Bella tells me as she watches the printer churn and squeal from over my shoulder. "Nervous?" she asks, probably not really wondering, but merely seeking confirmation.

"Yeah," I shrug, trying to laugh.

"Don't be," she replies in a soft voice. "Today," she begins, looking out the window at the cloudless, late winter sky before turning her attention back to me and smiling. "Is the perfect day for ending up where you always should've been."

"If you're with me, I can't be lost," I tell her. She hugs me tightly to her, and rests her head on my chest.

"I'd never let that happen," she confirms as she presses my palm to her cheek. "And I'm hopeless without you," she adds with a sigh.

Two hours later, I pull the car into a generously-sized driveway that sits alongside a nicely maintained Colonial-style home on the outskirts of Hanover.

"This is it," I say, turning my key and cutting the ignition. I feel Bella's lips press to my cheek.

"You've been waiting for this. And so has he," she whispers. "Go meet your father," she urges.

My nerves are quieted by her gentle words of encouragement, but before I get out of the car, I pull something out of my jacket pocket. It's an old Polaroid picture that was sandwiched in the pages of my mother's journal. I still haven't read it, but when Brown Eyes showed me the photograph that my mother obviously couldn't bear to part with, I knew I had to give it Carlisle.

I stare at the face of a much younger version of my mom than the one I remember. Her expression is so bright and happy. Next to her is Carlisle, his own smile effusive as the obviously love-struck couple forms a tight embrace.

My mom's youthful hair and clothing may not look familiar to me—but I do recognize the contentment in her eyes. I saw it many times before her passing. She'd have that same look at my piano recitals, my award ceremonies, my baseball games.

"She was so beautiful," I hear Brown Eyes say in a soft voice.

"She was," I agree. I look at the two lovers frozen in time for one more minute before whispering a soft '_I love you, Mom_,' and putting the photo back in my pocket.

I wrap my arm around Bella, letting out a deep breath and knocking a bit hesitantly on the front door. It swings open almost immediately.

"You must be Edward," a woman greets me, her smile warm and friendly. She looks to be in her early middle age, with wavy mahogany-brown hair and bright hazel eyes.

Before I know it, all I can do is nod in confirmation. In the blink of an eye, she gasps and pulls me by the sleeve of my jacket, barreling me into the house and through the foyer. I vaguely sense Bella's hand clasping my other arm, squeezing it in reassurance.

Standing in the middle of a spacious, yet very comfortably-appointed living room is Carlisle Cullen.

My father.

He has to be. He's got that same look on his face that I must have right now—nervous, tentative. Not only do his mannerisms look like mine, but the emotions propelling them are the same, too. I've looked at his picture online, and in the photograph with my mother, but seeing him alive and in the flesh is something different entirely. He is a real person—with hands, cheekbones, and eyes, all shaped like mine. But the genetic contribution is secondary to the connection I feel when his hand lightly slaps his chest as he looks at me. I am making the same exact motion at my own chest. We're just too overwhelmed to use words.

He slowly drops his arm and extends his hand out to me as I approach him. I can't tell if it's meant as a gesture of greeting, or to touch me to see if I'm really there. Again, without thinking, my actions mirror his automatically, and we grip our hands together tightly. The handshake only lasts a few seconds. It's just too perfunctory and aloof a thing between a father and son who've never met before, but have spent years contemplating the possibility of this exact moment ever even happening.

We embrace in a hug filled with hearty pats to the back that buoy and bolster us. We'd rather dwell in the fulfillment of having finally found one another, than in the regret and disappointment we endured for having waited so long.

"Edward, my son," Carlisle utters, his voice raspy and strained.

"It's me, Edward," is all I can say back, my voice just as hoarse as his. "I'm sorry I took so long," I add, apologizing just as much to myself as I am to him. The relief I feel from the realization that this moment is as significant to him as it is to me fills me with an overwhelming sense of happiness, and even a small amount of shock.

"Doesn't matter. You found me. That's what matters," he replies, the consolation and assurance ringing clearly from the tone of his voice.

Bella and the woman who greeted us at the door, who I assume must be Carlisle's wife, Esme, are holding each other while simultaneously laughing and crying. They soon join in on the father and son bonding, and the four of us form a sort of combination group-hug/football-huddle.

"This is my Bella, by the way," I say with a laugh. I've never introduced someone while the entire room was already on such a familiar basis.

"Hi," Bella says in a small voice. "Edward," she adds, "I can't really breathe." Somehow my girlfriend managed to get wedged snugly between my father and me, with my arm around her ribs and his around her shoulders.

Clearly, bear-hugging is another genetic contribution I can trace back to Carlisle.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Esme says. "Carlisle's hugs…" she struggles to say, as her breathing goes shallow. "Are…a…little…_assertive_," she explains.

"He smooshes—I mean, squeezes?" Brown Eyes asks.

"Like a boa constrictor," Esme replies.

"Nice to meet you, by the way, Bella," Carlisle chimes in.

"Likewise," Bella peeps from the collar of my jacket. Her face is pressed into my shoulder and I can feel her chin in my armpit.

"We're so happy to meet you both," Esme says, eager to keep the conversation flowing, regardless of the sheer absurdity of trying to make small talk while we're still in this clump of bodies, the four of us tangled together, with no sign of anyone letting go.

"We're happy to be here," I reply.

"I made a roast," Esme informs us. "I hope you guys are hungry."

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Bella offers.

"No, but thank you. I was just letting the wine breathe, actually. Would you care for a drink?" Esme offers cordially. "It's just," she tries to gesture by slanting her head toward the sideboard against the wall.

An eight-legged cluster of human bodies shuffles across the room, but the noise of floorboards creaking near the doorway interrupts our ridiculous caterpillaresque ambulation.

"Couldn't wait for the old man, I see," I hear from a booming voice, but I can't see the person it belongs to because my back is to him.

"Dad, come meet Edward…your grandson," Carlisle says, patting my back and kneading my shoulder.

"No need to break up the party on my account," he replies with a laugh. I nonetheless disentangle myself from my three 'hug-mates' so I can properly introduce myself.

I turn and face the source of that deep voice. He's an older gentleman who looks to be in his seventies, but he has the same bright blue eyes as Carlisle. He beams at me, his arms outstretched.

"Edward, this is Patrick Cullen, your grandfather," Carlisle says as he stands at my side and gestures at the man in front of me.

"It's, uh, nice to meet you," I tell him, hoping he approves of me.

"Let me look at you," he says, clasping my shoulders with his heavy, well-aged hands. He's as tall as I am, with a straight back and long legs, just like mine. His face changes as he looks right into my eyes—he appears quite serious, like he's inspecting me, but quickly nods his head and hums an '_mmhmm_' to himself.

"Cullen, through and through," he decides, smirking at me as I look down at my feet and laugh.

"Thank you," I say, rubbing the back of my head and returning his half-smile. He gives me a hearty chuckle, and pats his palm against my cheek.

"You're welcome, my boy. So very welcome," he assures me, pulling me into a hug. I know that he means it as more than to just a reply to my gratitude.

"Dad," Carlisle says, turning toward my grandfather. They too, embrace one another.

"I have recited this verse from Mark many times," my grandfather says to my father. "'_Everything is possible for him who believes_.' We believed…we persevered, and here he is," my grandfather says, resting one hand on my shoulder and the other on Carlisle's.

My heart swells at his kind words. To hear that my existence was something they'd hoped and wished for fills an empty space in my soul that had not just been neglected, but abandoned. My hope and perseverance ebbed and dwindled down to nothing because I was certain no one had either of those things for me.

A pair of arms wraps around my waist and I turn to see Brown Eyes smiling up at me. I cup her face with my hands and give her the happiest kiss I've ever given a woman.

"I love you, Brown Eyes," I whisper in her ear.

"I love you, too," she says in a soft voice as she presses a tissue to her cheek.

"I'm just glad I'm here…with you. This makes you happy, too, right?" I ask, hoping she'll reaffirm what she said yesterday about how helping find my father is its own reward for her.

"You bet it does," she says, resting her head on my shoulder and smiling.

A short while later, we all sit around the large dining room table, where Esme has prepared nothing short of a feast for us. My grandfather, still a practicing Episcopal reverend, has us all clasp hands so that he can say Grace before we begin eating.

"Bless, Heavenly Father, _thy_ gifts to our use and us to _thy_ loving service; and keep us ever mindful of the needs of others. And thank you, Lord, for bringing my grandson home to his family. We ask that his dear mother be at your side as she watches over us today and every day; through Jesus Christ, our Lord. _Amen_," he says, before we all murmur an '_amen'_ of our own.

Dinner passes in a steady flow of conversation, all of us eager to get to know one another. I learn little everyday facts about my father and how his life has turned out. His mother, my grandmother Veronica, passed away years before I was born. Carlisle and the rest of the older generations of Cullens are from the small town of Landaff, just outside Hanover. My grandfather, now semi-retired, still preaches a sermon every Sunday morning at the same church he's been with for almost fifty years. He lives in the small carriage house behind the restored Colonial bought by Carlisle when he and Esme got married.

When dinner winds down and Patrick decides to go home for the evening, I offer to walk him to his door. The brisk night air and my grandfather's very un-elderly walking speed help to clear my head from its post-pot-roast-induced haze. Soon, we reach his little one-story private apartment, its dim outdoor light flickering in front of us.

"Edward," he begins, turning to face me. "When your father was told that you were gone and that Libby had refused him, part of him was lost to me," he explains, the tone of his voice slightly somber. "I bore his sadness with him, as I'm sure you did, without even knowing why. Three generations, weighed down with the same burden," he says, his mouth drawn into a tight line as he nods his head.

Clearly, everything Edward Masen had done to keep my parents apart had a very obvious ripple effect on us all. And now, finally, we can set about the task of putting it behind us. Patrick is the man who I realize should've been my grandfather all these years. I listen intently as he relates, in his own words, what happened to Carlisle and me. He does so in a way that is more eloquent and profound than I could ever phrase it.

"I'm reminded of the parable of the prodigal son, the lost boy who returns to his father," he continues. "But unlike the prodigal son, you've done nothing to seek atonement for. No, no. You, Edward, are the lost sheep your father carried on his shoulders for twenty-eight years," he tells me, resting his hand on my shoulder.

"I preach about demons and how the monsters and creatures we see in books and movies are obviously just make-believe. But there are true demons, real ones. They haunt us from the inside. I do hope any demons that might have plagued you are now well and truly gone," he says, patting my back. I give him a hug in return to thank him for everything—being so accepting, earnest, kind.

"You love that girl," he tells me, referring to Brown Eyes. It's a statement, not a question. I simply nod my head in agreement. "'_And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love_,'" he says, nodding back to me. He laughs to himself after seeing my slightly sheepish expression, but merely bids me goodnight.

Making my way back to the main house, I walk into the kitchen to catch a glimpse of Bella and Esme having a very animated conversation while helping each other wash dishes. The topic of conversation is cooking: more specifically, quiche recipes.

"And for that one, you _have_ to use grated smoked gouda. He'll complain if you don't—trust me," Esme says with a laugh. "I can print out the recipe before you guys leave."

"Who will complain?" I ask nosily, wrapping my arms around Bella from behind and propping my head on her shoulder.

"You, Mayor McCheese," Brown Eyes informs me, giggling along with Esme.

"Edward," Esme says, looking as if she's telling me something very grave. "You have inherited a very serious and important mantle, being a Cullen man."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" I reply.

"You love eggs," she answers with a deep sigh. "And as an elder Cullen woman, let me do what I can to help Bella with this new responsibility—offer my guidance with the demanding, arduous task of enabling your love. It's the least I can do," she explains, waving a spatula for emphasis before the two of them dissolve into peals of laughter.

"Oh, I see how it is," I grumble playfully. "Two against one. I'm leaving now," I pout, leaving the room in search for Carlisle as I endure their chuckling and feigned laments of '_aw, poor baby_,' as I exit. I'm not really put out by their teasing. I'm actually kind of glad Bella has an ally and someone to playfully commiserate with in Esme. I think they'll both have lots to talk about. Or complain about. It's difficult to say which.

Thankfully, I stumble across Carlisle as he's rummaging through a large hall closet. He's attempting to extract something from under a large pile of other, somewhat neatly stored belongings.

"Can I help you with anything?" I offer, standing behind him.

"Oh, no. I've got it. I think, anyway," he replies with a laugh, trying to stem the threat of an avalanche of overcoats and umbrellas that threaten to break loose all over the hallway. "Here it is," he says, pulling out a large, rectangular bag made of black canvas. Laying it on the floor, he unzips it quickly to reveal a golf bag.

"This," he gestures, thrusting the bag toward me, "is for you."

"Golf clubs?" I ask, perplexed. I don't even play golf. In fact, I've made a point of never learning. It strikes me as an altogether snobbish pastime. Golf, at least in my mind, is for rich, old fat-cats like my maternal grandfather. I'm a little surprised Carlisle would have an interest in such a hobby.

"Edward," he begins, "every doctor needs to play golf," he states plainly.

I merely raise an eyebrow at him, garnering a laugh in response.

"It's not what you think, believe me. I play what I like to call 'slacker golf.' I don't play to win, or even get better. I play because it's the only sport or serious hobby you can enjoy while socializing," he explains, pushing the bag of clubs at me.

"But, uh, I've never even played before," I say awkwardly as I inspect the bulky leather bag. When Carlisle said 'slacker golf,' he wasn't kidding. The clubs are covered with old tennis socks that are numbered with a Sharpie marker.

"Never played? You're probably already better than me. I stink," he confesses with a snicker. "But you learn a lot about a man when you play a few rounds with him. You'll either find out while you talk between holes, or just size him up by how he plays," he reveals.

"Well, thanks. Not sure if I'll get the chance to use them…" I try to say, unable to think an opportunity to play anytime soon.

"Sure you will. The season's just getting started. It's the perfect time to learn. Come meet me at the driving range this week—on Wednesday. Always keep your Wednesdays free, like every good doctor does," he says with a wry smile.

"Really?" I ask. Even I believe the old Wednesday round of golf is now a cliché, and I myself work in this profession.

"Edward," he replies, putting his arm around me. "Wednesday at the driving range means you'll be shaming the hell out of every attorney on the course at tee-time on Saturday. They're in court all week," he explains with a wink.

_I think I might have an extremely cool dad._

"Wednesday it is," I reply with a nod and a laugh. "But I thought you said you stink at golf," I question, confused by his contradiction.

"Oh, I stink compared to the other doctors. But I would never allow myself to play as badly as a lawyer. There's simply no excuse for that," he replies with a hearty laugh.

Setting the clubs against the wall, I wait for Carlisle to finish re-organizing all the items he had to move and jumble around in order to find what he was looking for. When I see my jacket hanging there next to him, I remember I have something to share with him as well.

"Um, I have something for you, actually," I say, somewhat anxiously. I take out the Polaroid picture of my mom and Carlisle from my jacket pocket. "It's a picture of you and my mom. It was in storage with her old things. I thought you might like to have it," I stammer, hoping I haven't stirred up any difficult memories for him.

He inspects the picture as I hold it out to him. At first he looks surprised, but his expression turns into something that reflects how bittersweet that captured moment must seem to him now.

"Libby," he says with a sigh. "God, I loved your mother. Just the most incredible thing—meeting her, falling for her," he adds, scratching his head as he takes the photo from me.

"She was told a lot of things by my grandfather, by Edward Masen. They weren't true. It's why my mother never looked for you," I explain, hoping he understands that my mother wasn't at fault for what had happened.

"I strongly suspected as much, especially after Bella contacted me. If you knew as much as I did about the whole thing, clearly Libby was hiding things from you—namely, that she didn't think very highly of me," he replies, looking thoughtful.

"You're not…angry at her, are you?" I ask, wishing he'd see that circumstances were just as much beyond her control as they were his.

"No, Edward. I'm not," he reassures me. "She probably began to form a bad impression of me after leaving Yale—an impression that I never gave her. Edward Masen definitely did not find me to be a suitable match for his daughter. I can't blame her for being susceptible to his influence. She idolized her dad, always tried to seek his approval."

"I'm sorry for the way things turned out," I offer, feeling genuine remorse for how he'd been needlessly made to suffer.

"I'm not," he says simply as he shrugs his shoulders. "I'm not sorry I fell in love with your mother and that it brought you into the world. I'm not even sorry we were forced apart. Because if that didn't happen, I wouldn't have Esme now.

"There's a lot to be said about young love and falling for someone so quickly and completely. It's an amazing experience," he contemplates as he looks at the Polaroid one last time, before putting it in his shirt pocket. "But I have something with Esme that…I can't really even describe. She saw how unhappy I was, how I was just drifting through life, and she snapped me out of it," he says, smiling wistfully.

"Yeah, I think I know what that's like," I reply with a laugh. Brown Eyes has done that same exact thing for me.

"Edward, I've had almost thirty years of my adult life to sort through this. You're only just trying to figure it all out. But let me help you get a leg up: don't waste another minute dwelling on the past. Do what you can to be happy. Not much else matters," he advises, picking up the golf bag and handing it to me.

He's right. Not much else does matter.

After saying an extended goodbye outside my car, Carlisle and Esme wave us off as I reverse the Volvo from their driveway and pull away onto the quiet country road. Bella giggles to herself several times as she leafs through the stack of recipes Esme gave her before we left.

"I love your stepmom," she declares with a laugh. "And your dad. And your grandfather," she chirps happily. "I already made plans to come back for dinner again next Sunday. I'll go even if you don't," she jokes, rubbing my thigh. As we were leaving his home, Carlisle insisted we come back, and I enthusiastically accepted.

"Hey, I just met these people, don't steal them," I complain playfully.

"Aw, I wouldn't. They're too awesome not to share," she replies.

"They are, aren't they?" I say with a grin.

I have to admit, none of this would be nearly as satisfying if I didn't have Bella to share the experience with. I'd be driving home by myself to an empty apartment and no one to enjoy these moments with me.

"You're a lucky guy, Edward," she says with a contented sigh.

"That I am," I agree.

Bella and I make our way back to Cambridge and our brownstone near Harvard Square. We rush up the stoop and the two flights of stairs to my place, where I insist she stay for the night. She already has PJs, a fresh change of clothing, and a toothbrush here. There's even a box of tampons under the bathroom sink.

Tampons. In _my_ apartment. James would have a field day. But I don't care. This woman opened up to me, accepted me, loved me. And in doing so, opened up an entire world I never would have discovered without her.

"Jesus, your feet are freezing!" I exclaim with a chuckle as Bella curls up next to me in bed, pressing the soles of her feet to my calves.

"Sorry, _love_," she replies, gazing at me with happy eyes. "Can you think of anything that could warm me up?" she asks coyly, biting that delicious bottom lip of hers.

"Can I think of anything?" I laugh. "What can I _not_ think of when you're in bed next to me, flirting at me with that shy look of yours?" I ask, grabbing her by the rump and flipping her on top of me. "Nothing gets your body temperature elevated like some healthy aerobic movement, Brown Eyes," I inform her with a smirk.

"Oh, _aerobic movement_, huh? Like this?" she asks, straddling me and grinding her hips up and down.

"Just like that, sweet girl," I say in hoarse whisper, right before holding her face in my hands and kissing her deeply.

I spend the remainder of the evening making sure the two of us get ample aerobic movement. After all, I'd hate for her to fall asleep with cold extremities.

The next few days pass quickly as I work my usual thirty-six hour shift on Monday and Tuesday. Come that Wednesday morning, Carlisle and I meet on a golf course that's halfway between Boston and Hanover. He explains the fundamental elements of the game and instructs me on how and when to use the various clubs before we begin practicing on the driving range.

"You're pretty good," he tells me enthusiastically as he watches my practice swing.

"Thanks. You know, this game isn't half bad," I admit, volleying my club back and forth between my hands.

"At this rate, you really will leave a trail of thoroughly-humiliated lawyers all over the course," he says with a grin before executing a perfect drive that sends the ball slicing through the air. He shakes his head and laughs when he sees that his stroke didn't go as far or as accurately as mine did.

After a couple of hours of practice, we decide to break for the day and have lunch before going our separate ways until we meet up again on Sunday for dinner.

"Say, Edward," Carlisle begins as he gathers up his gear. "I want to give you something. I hope you don't think it's forward of me," he adds, taking out a small velvet box from the outer compartment of his golf bag. "It was meant for your mother, but it's yours now."

I take the box from him and open it slowly—my hand faltering slightly. Inside is a dainty, antique diamond engagement ring. It's the one he wanted to give my mom when he drove to Chicago to see her, only to be turned away at the front door by her father.

"Carlisle, I, uh, I don't know what to say," I stammer, overwhelmed by the fact that he'd trust me with something that significant to him and his family.

"You don't have to say anything. Just keep it," he insists.

"But this…it's really valuable to the Cullens…" I say, my voice trailing off.

"And that's exactly why it belongs to you. You're a Cullen—my only son and the last of us. That ring meant something to all the people who passed it down from one generation to the next. It shouldn't be lingering in a safety deposit box any longer," he tells me.

"Thank you, Carlisle. I'm honored," I say.

Perhaps I'm being premature in thinking there is a 'his' family with Carlisle. Rather, it's 'our' family, instead. His unconditional acceptance of me as a Cullen makes me feel as if my life is coming full-circle. I have a father, a family, an identity, a place in the world.

"No need to thank me. Just offer it to the right girl at the right time," he advises, smiling at me. "But I wouldn't make her wait too long. She seems to have a temper like Esme's," he adds with a wink.

"You didn't give this to her?" I ask as I gently lift the ring from its little velvet cushion to have a closer look at it.

"No," he replies, shaking his head. "I wanted to start over. My life with Esme was a new beginning, a fresh start. I kept that one, but had a new ring custom-made for her. I wanted to give her something one-of-a-kind, because that's what she is to me," he adds.

"If I, you know, if I gave this to Bella, do you think she'd say 'yes'?" I ask, nervously contemplating a proposal. The truth is I think I _am_ ready to ask her to marry me, but the idea does mildly scare the shit out of me.

"I think you know the answer to that," he scoffs with a laugh. "She wouldn't have called me or come with you to meet me, if she wasn't ready to accept if you asked."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," I agree, smiling.

Brown Eyes and I have been through a lot together, grown together. We make each other happy, and life without her is simply no life at all to me anymore.

"And I've seen the way you two are with each other, and the way she looks at you. Even an old man like me knows that look. Thank God my wife still gives it to me," he jokes, patting my back and gripping my shoulder. I look at him for a moment, and notice how our faces mirror the same shit-eating grin.

"Can I ask you to do something for me?" I ask as we walk toward the clubhouse for lunch.

"Of course," he replies without hesitation.

"If Bella accepts, would you be my best man?" I ask, feeling a little anxious. We might not have known each other that long, but I can already see in him the close friend I'd always needed. I couldn't think of anyone I'd want at my side more than him.

"Now _I'm_ the one who should be honored," he says proudly. "Would you mind doing something for me as well?"

When he asks his return favor, I agree to it without a second thought, and we shake hands on it to confirm that we've got a deal.

After lunch with Carlisle, I spend the drive back to Boston contemplating the new life I have and the woman I can't wait to share it with. I have the biggest shit-eating grin on my face the entire way home.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN!**

**Tune in next time when we're back to BPOV.**

"**You're like school in the summer. No class," is from Fat Albert. Russell, the little wisecrackin' kid in the blue hat, says this to Rudy, the smooth-talker.**

_**Professor Booty**_** is a song on the Beastie Boys' **_**Check Your Head**_** album. The song contains the spoken words "Professor, what's another word for pirate treasure?" and someone answering "Well, I think it's booty, booty, booty, that's what it is." I had that on the out-going message of my answering machine when I was in college. Remember answering machines? Jebus, I'm old. But at least I still "got more bounce to the f*ckin' bump." I think. Okay, maybe not. More like I'm "the dictionary definition of the word 'spastic'."**

**Biblical references:**

'_**Everything is possible for him who believes,**_**' is from Mark 9:23. **

**The Parable of the Prodigal Son and the Parable of the Lost Sheep are both from the Gospel of Luke, chapter 15. **

**The words I used for the saying of Grace were partly borrowed from the standard Episcopal prayer said before eating that I found in **_**The Book of Common Prayer**_**.**

'_**And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love**_**,' is from 1 Corinthians 13:13.****

**Mayor McCheese is one of Ronald McDonald's homeboys. His head is a giant cheeseburger and he wears a sash. I wanna be him when I grow up.**

**It's my husband's birthday today! Happy Birthday to my baby daddy and 'younger man' (I'm a year older than him.) :oP**

**Once again, thank you for reading. ::MWAH::

* * *

**

****Just wanted to add some additional info about this quote. There's a discrepancy in that Corinthians passage. It varies according to which version of the bible you're reading. In King James, the word "charity" is used instead of the word "love." But in the following other versions, the verse is as I quoted it:**

**American Standard  
Darby English  
New International  
World English  
Young's Literal Translation**

**According to the 2006 Episcopal Constitution and Canons, King James is their standard, but they also sanction American Standard and New International. The choice is up to the individual diocesan bishop.  
**

**References:  
Episcopal church web site with bible search:  
http : // www . holycrossshreveport . org / index . cfm?page=8**

2006 Episcopal Constitution and Canons:  
Canon II.2 (pg 59)  
http : // www . episcopalarchives . org / e-archives / canons / CandC_FINAL_11.29.2006 . pdf

**  
Just remove the spaces to copy/paste the links. :o)**


	27. Chapter 27

**Hello and welcome back!**

**Thanks for joining me, and thank you again for all your kind reviews. I haven't been about to reply to many of them but I do read each one. I'm grateful for all the kind words you leave.**

**Lots of love and gratitude to my beta and bestie Nina, aka WriteOnTime, who's always so generous with **_**her**_** time.**

**Hugs and hooter honks to my pre-reader Rie, aka goldenmeadow, for giving me advice and encouragement.**

**Thanks also to pinkpixiechick, miztrezboo, DragonsExist and Marzy.**

**

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**

**I don't own Twilight, I'm just unoriginal.**

I'm lazily daydreaming, my eyes staring out the window next to me, but focused on nothing in particular. I'm vaguely aware of someone talking to me, and it brings me back to the here and now.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" I ask the frumpy, yet sweet-smiling middle-aged man in the bow-tie and tweed blazer sitting across from me at his desk.

"Lost you, didn't I, Bella?" he asks back, his black half-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose as he chuckles at my daydreaming.

"Sorry, Professor Berty, I'm distracted today," I explain with a quick shake of my head. "I've had a lot on my mind," I add awkwardly. As much as I adore and admire my thesis advisor, there isn't enough eroticism in Victorian poetry to keep me on task today.

_Come to think of it, there isn't enough eroticism in Victorian poetry, period._

"I was just saying that I'm pleased you've finished your thesis early, and I look forward to reading it," he says, patting the big stack of papers that sit on the desk in front of him.

"Thanks. I'm happy it's done," I reply. As far as lukewarm enthusiasm goes, I'm feeling pretty ridiculously tepid.

Once Shelly offered me a year-long internship at the hospital, I knew that writing this thesis wasn't exactly a huge goal in my life anymore. I even asked the Registrar's Office to change my credits for this project from a letter grade to a pass/fail. That took an enormous amount of pressure off of me, and so, I spent all of my spring recess last week plowing through and getting this paper finished, while Edward worked double shifts at the hospital. I had to beg him to go—not because he distracted me, but because _I_ distracted me. With him. All the time.

I would've just gone home to Phoenix for spring break, but my mom decided to come to Cambridge for Easter instead. So, my mom will be here for a semi-extended weekend, starting in two days. Carlisle and Esme invited the three of us over for Easter dinner at their house. It's the perfect time for my mom to meet Edward's parents.

I love the thought of that—_Edward's parents_. Just thinking about it gives me the best warm fuzzies no amount of money can buy. Maybe Carlisle is still something of a new friend than a dad to Edward, and Esme might be his stepmom, but they've been nothing but completely warm and amazing since we met them almost a month ago. My guess is, since they never had any kids of their own, that this is a real blessing for them. Meeting Edward gave them something they didn't think they'd ever have—just like they did for him.

As for my mom and me, we're still having a hard time celebrating holidays without my dad. Her coming out here makes it easier than trying to 'celebrate' at our house in Phoenix, where we have so many memories of him everywhere. Those memories are constant reminders of why we miss him so much.

And I do miss my dad. Today especially.

"Bella?" I hear Professor Berty say. Again, I'm lost in my own dream world.

"Sorry. Again," I sigh.

"It's alright. You've earned yourself some downtime after working so diligently in the last few weeks. I'm sure your efforts will show through in your work," he says, smiling at me with a warmth and optimism he's always shown me, even when my enthusiasm for this project really seemed to bottom out.

"Thank you," I reply, smiling back before packing up my things and saying goodbye.

As I walk out of the English department offices, I take a deep breath, and laugh to myself without really being able to help it. One chapter of my life, so to speak, is over. I'm officially leaving behind the world of academics and scholarly pursuit. Not to mention, experiencing love and physical intimacy sure beats the heck out of just reading and writing about it. It's like the difference between imagining the best meal you'd ever taste…and actually taking a giant bite out of it.

It's time for me to start my new path in life. Not just in my personal relationship with Edward, but in my career, too. I'm eager to start social work full-time and help those families who feel lost and scared. My mom and I felt that exact same way, just one year ago.

It was, in fact, one year ago today that my dad lost his short but extremely hard fight with stomach cancer.

As I pass through the main gates of Harvard Yard, my cell phone vibrates from my coat pocket. It's a text from my mom.

**Thinking about you and Charlie today. Love you, Mom**

My mom's currently in Tampa visiting my grandmother, along with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. My mom decided to visit them on her way here and maybe take my cousins to Disney World. She would rather let this day pass without too much sadness. It's what my dad would've wanted.

I text her back a short reply.

**I love you 2, Mummy. See you on Friday. –Bella**

As I walk home to the brownstone, my thoughts drift to memories of my dad's last days. I still hate that he isn't here, that I can't talk to him—see him, joke around with him—like I always did. But in a way, I feel like we're still close because the time we did have together was just packed with so many great moments that all I have to do is think about them, and it's like he's not really gone.

Sighing heavily, I trudge up the stairs to my apartment, but once I notice that Edward's front door is slightly open, I shake off my melancholy and smile to myself instead. He usually leaves his door that way when I'm not home but he's expecting me back soon. Well, he's _always_ expecting me back soon. To say that Edward doesn't like it when I'm out alone, or even with friends but _not_ with him, is kind of an understatement. I shake my head and laugh at how he loves to monopolize my time. It doesn't bother me one bit. Who in their right mind would get annoyed by an overly-possessive, quick-to-get-jealous, yet adorably sweet _hottie_ of a boyfriend?

Uh, not me.

I step into Edward's apartment and quietly shut and lock the door behind me. I don't see any sign of him, but I know he's here somewhere. Soft music plays through the speakers connected to his iPod, and I notice that the table is already set for dinner, with unopened boxes of takeout neatly grouped in the center.

Shrugging off my backpack and coat, I step out of my shoes and stretch a little, giving my back a breather after lugging a bunch of books to campus and back. I can't help but giggle to myself when I take a seat at the table. There are two plates, side-by-side, on one place setting. I guess Edward wants me to sit on his lap while we eat. Once again, I have a hard time getting annoyed and wonder who would.

I sit at the tandem seating arrangement and absentmindedly twirl one of the forks that rest on the soft linen napkin in front of me. It's just so comforting to know that someone always saves a spot for me. Not just for dinner, but in his life and in his heart. We might not have planned it, but somehow we ended up making room for each other. Well, Edward does love to hog it all—both my actual 'personal space' with the smooshing and lap-sitting, and in the less literal sense: how he crowds my time, lords over my attention, and hordes my love. It would bother me if it weren't so freaking endearing.

Edward, I've learned, is a grown man with a boy's heart—one that's eternally ageless; pure, but also a little selfish, though in a completely benign way.

"Hi there, beautiful daydreamer," a smooth, deep voice coos in my ear. I feel damp hair against my temple and smell aftershave. I lean in closer to where that voice came from, because he smells better than the food and I'm positive he'd taste better, too.

I close my eyes and let out a long, slow breath when Edward's fingers gently massage the back of my neck.

"Hey, good lookin'. I guess I don't need to do the cookin'," I joke with a small laugh, looking up at him with one eye open as he works the kinks out of my stiff muscles.

"No cooking for you tonight, Brown Eyes," he says, before bending toward me and stealing a kiss. He takes my hand to stand me up, then sits down himself and situates me onto my favorite lap.

"Hungry?" he asks as we both start opening the takeout boxes.

"I'm famished, actually," I answer with a slight smile. "I don't think I really ate much today."

"Are you feeling alright?" he asks, his expression looking concerned.

"I'm fine. Today's just…kind of a hard day for me. That's all," I explain, my voice becoming soft.

"What's wrong? You look down," he tells me, holding my chin in his fingers. He's so unbearably sincere in his concern, and I know that brushing it off as 'no big deal' is pointless. He'll keep at it until I come clean.

"Today's the, um, one-year anniversary of my dad passing," I explain, my thumb rubbing the edge of my napkin. My eyes wander until they settle on studying the intricate patterns and swirls made by the sauce in my Lamb Pasanda as it seeps into the bed of Jasmine rice underneath it.

"I'm sorry, Brown Eyes," he offers, putting down his fork to stroke my cheek.

"It's okay. I'm not terribly sad. I just miss him," I reply.

Edward kisses my forehead in sympathy, and I know he understands what this is like. It's been fourteen years since he lost his mom, but his grief is still there. His feelings have been stuck in a sort of vacuum all this time, and only recently is he finally working through it instead of ignoring it.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, and as my hunger starts fading, so does my pensive mood. Moments like this one are hard to avoid, but as long as I remind myself that my dad would never want me to be sad over his memory, I can usually honor that wish. And so, I focus on happy memories like trips to see the Diamondbacks play in Chase Field, or vacations he took with my mom and me to all sorts of places.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Edward asks when he notices me staring out into space.

"Oh," I reply, smiling. "I was thinking about the fun stuff I used to do with my dad."

"Building forts?" he asks, smiling back at me.

"Sometimes," I laugh. "We did lots of things…watch baseball, go to movies, stuff like that. But he _really_ loved baseball. I don't think I ever saw him as happy as when the D-backs won the World Series," I add, nodding my head at the memory.

"What else? Tell me about him," Edward coaxes as he pats my thigh.

"Let's see," I say with a sigh. "My dad was a very friendly guy. People think 'cop' and picture someone really serious with no sense of humor…but he wasn't like that. My dad was friends with everybody. Go to any neighborhood in Phoenix—rich, poor, suburb, whatever—and someone there would know Charlie Swan," I reveal. My dad was a very affable guy, and his work took him everywhere around the city.

"Sounds like he was a great person," Edward says, grazing his index finger across my jaw.

"He was," I agree as I try to think of the more defining moments I had with my father. "He liked to tell me things to boost my confidence. One time, I think I was a senior in high school…I threw out the first pair of heels I ever bought. I was so pissed off. I blew all my birthday money on those things. I put them on to go to a party and I twisted my ankle before I even left my house," I recall, shaking my head. Edward gives me a sympathetic frown and kisses my cheek.

"So my dad saw me sulking in my room after noticing my shoes in the trash. I was on the verge of tears—stupid teenage angst," I snort. "But anyway, I was whining about hating myself for being so uncoordinated. He just smiled and said 'you're _not_ clumsy. It's the rest of the world that's unbalanced'. At the time, I thought he was just trying to cheer me up, but really, he wanted me to be proud of who I was, even if it made me different."

"Well, he did raise an outstandingly beautiful and intelligent woman. Even if she does have two left feet," Edward teases. He laughs when I just stick my tongue out at him.

"My dad gave me lots of advice, too. He was good at that—you know, offering 'words of wisdom' and stuff. He'd say 'Bells, don't let people confuse being nice with being stupid.' It's funny, really, that he'd tell me that. His classic 'good cop' routine would get people to confess all kinds of things to him. Basically, he was warning me not use to his own tricks," I explain with an incredulous laugh. My laugh dwindles down to a little smile as we both become quiet for a minute.

"Brown Eyes?" Edward says, sounding more serious. Looking at his face, he does seem thoughtful all of a sudden.

"Do you think your dad would have liked me?" he asks, looking slightly anxious. "I mean, do you think your dad would've…approved of me?"

"He would _not_ have approved your choice of clothing when I first met you," I answer with a straight face before losing my self-control and giggling.

"I'm going to be reminded of that forever, aren't I?" Edward replies, shaking his head and grimacing at me. "Come on, I'm serious."

"How can I _not_ answer that without making a joke?" I say, playfully dismissing his anxiety. "My dad would've talked your ear off about baseball. Well, I take that back. First, he'd warned you that he carried a gun at all times. Then he'd go on and on about baseball," I add with a laugh. Poor Edward's eyes go wide like one of those old plastic _Kit-Cat_ clocks from the seventies.

"Okay, the part about the gun scares me. Not so much that he'd use it on me, but that you'd let him," he jokes back.

"Aw, come on. I wouldn't let my dad kill you, Edward," I soothe. "Actually, maybe a superficial shot to the leg or something."

"I thought so," he grumbles. "Just a flesh wound?"

"'Tis but a flesh wound!" I say with a snort, reciting one of my favorite lines from _Monty Python_.

"The Black Knight always triumphs!" he recites back with a laugh.

"That's right. And my dad would have really liked you. I just know he would have," I tell him sweetly, holding his cheek in my hand. "You'd even still have all your arms and legs. I swear," I reassure him with a grin.

"I'll take that as the closest I'll get to a ringing endorsement. Thank you," he chuckles before kissing me. His lips taste like Riesling and curry, and tasting them makes me shiver all the way to my toes.

"You're welcome," I reply as I study his profile. I really do think my dad would've liked Edward. He might not have approved of our relationship when we still had our 'arrangement,' but it's obvious now how happy we are together. That's not to say we _never_ argue. Our fight on the night we came back from New Haven wasn't exactly a small quarrel. But we worked it out. I'm no relationship expert, but we seem to have a good way of talking through stuff rather than letting things linger or holding grudges.

Besides, my dad would probably appreciate how over-protective Edward can be, and thinking about that makes me smile.

Taking a generous sip of my wine (which is beginning to make me feel a little toasty) I watch Edward pick up a piece of Chicken Korma with his fork and bring it up to his mouth, giving me a peek at his tongue as it darts out and back in really fast.

"Edward," I sigh. "I think I'm done eating," I say, throwing a ten-ton hint, made of pure, unadulterated subtlety, right at him.

"Let's finish up and work on dessert. What do you think?" he asks, smirking at me. He knows I want _him_ for dessert. Picturing Edward in a giant sundae bowl, covered in whipped cream and maraschino cherries, isn't exactly the _worst_ fantasy a girl could have.

"Brown Eyes," he purrs, saying my nickname slowly and letting the sound drip from his mouth. "Why are you blushing?" he flirts, his long, spidery fingers creeping up and down the inside of my thigh.

"No reason," I mumble back feebly.

"You're an abysmal liar," he informs me.

"I know," I confess, staring at his lips like they were two pieces of candy—sweet and lickable.

"Tell me, sweet girl. Please?" he coaxes, his lips tickling my temple. His voice is low, but soft. It's so hypnotic, it's almost mesmerizing. If you could imagine what the little voice in your head sounds like when you're tempted to eat a giant slice of chocolate cake, it would sound exactly like Edward cooing into your ear.

"I was thinking about you, of course," I concede. I blush even more when he laughs deeply and hums into my neck.

It should come as no surprise to anyone, especially me, when Edward charms me into his bedroom, out of my clothes, and into bed.

The next afternoon, I manage to successfully navigate my way through Barney's at the Copley Place mall—with Alice and Rose in tow, of course—without anyone losing their sanity, mine included. Edward insisted that I buy myself a new dress on his dime, saying I should consider it an early graduation gift. I do need something nice to wear for Easter dinner, and it couldn't hurt to set it aside for Commencement as well.

I get a text from Edward that makes my face break into a big smile.

**Whatcha doooooin?** **–E**

This is Edward's classic little pick-up line and inside joke. He asks me this all the time when we're together, and always with that same boyish, criminally adorable look on his face. He'll ask no matter how obvious it is what I'm doing—reading a book, writing a paper on my laptop. I always give him the same answer.

**Nuuuuuthin. ****–BE**

And again, he gives his usual response.

**Wanna do nuuuuthin with me? ****–E**

**Can't. You're at work. I'm out with the girls. ****–BE**

**You're prettier than them. ****–E**

**No need to flirt, Flirty McFlirtster. ****–BE**

**Can't be helped. The desperate urge to please you is all I know. It's my one flaw. ****–E**

**You're *my* Achilles' heel. ****–BE**

**My intense, generously-endowed love for you is not located anywhere near my foot. ****–E**

**Achilles' Peen? ****–BE**

**Something like that. ****–E**

**Don't let it get shot with an arrow. ****–BE**

**Ouch. Please only wound me with insults. ****–E**

**The peen is mightier than the word. ****–BE**

**Indeed. It often leaves you speechless. ****–E**

**You're not as likeable as him. Just sayin. ****–BE**

**Somehow I'm not offended by that. At all. ****–E**

**:Eyes rolling into my head: ****–BE**

**I love it when you do that. When naked especially. ****–E**

**My last nerve, you are working it. ****–BE**

**You're beautiful when you talk Yoda to me. –E**

**Such a geek under all that pretty, cupcake. –BE**

**Can I touch your pretty cupcakes? Please? –E**

**UNNNF! Oh hell 2 tha yes! And swirl ur slurpeelicious tongue around the raspberries on top!1! OMG, I'm SOOO wet right nao.**

**O_O –E**

**Ugh, sorry. That was Alice. Told you my friends are disgusting. –BE**

**I better go. Scrubs are not the ideal attire for the…'event' I'm currently experiencing. ****–E**

**Bye, love. I promise to, you know, help with your 'event' later. ILY! ****–BE**

**ILY too. And your raspberry-topped cupcakes. –E**

"Did you have to do that, Alice?" I scold as I smack her shoulder really hard. I've got some serious packages I'm ferrying around; otherwise, I would punch her much harder.

"Ow," she shrieks playfully. "Come on, I just gave your man the biggest woody. You'll be grateful later when he gets all up in your business," she snorts.

"Okay, first of all," I correct. "He needs absolutely no help with his 'woody,' Alice. And second of all, he's working a million shifts this week so he can have all weekend off. He'll be getting no business from me tonight," I explain.

"Your business ain't his business?" Rose inquires nosily with a raised eyebrow. She's trying to be all cute with me.

"My business is very much his business when they don't need his business doing work business," I clarify with a sniff, yanking my shopping bags and walking faster through the mall's promenade.

"Didn't you know his business is _all_ lady business?" Alice asks Rose before laughing hysterically.

"He's all business with _their _business, not mine. He loves on my business," I proclaim while smiling to myself. "Now mind your _own_ business!" I snap as I squint my eyes at them.

"You're mean when you're hard up, Bella," Alice informs me. I just roll my eyes at her.

"Uh oh, Edward has you on a peenbargo, huh?" Rose butts in, trying to seem sympathetic instead of just meddling.

"A peenbargo? Where do you even get these words? Is there, like, a more disgusting version of urban dictionary than the regular urban dictionary?" I ask incredulously.

"Come on, Prunella. Don't tell me you don't know what it's like now that you've had some. Cos once you get a taste…mmm, mmm, mmm," Rose hums to herself.

"Oh, the peen changes you," Alice declares. "That v-card gets stamped, and it's all over. Once it's popped, you can't stop," she adds with a laugh. Rose chimes in with a loud '_mmmhmm!_'

"Oh God, did you _have_ to compare my coocher to a can of Pringles?" I ask, shaking my head as we continue walking toward the mall exit closest to the T station.

"Whatever, girl. You know you love dick now. Don't lie," Rose accuses, before giggling and she wagging her finger at me.

"Alright, fine. I love _his_. Happy now?" I answer, trying to sound irritated but not succeeding. At first, I struggle not to smirk, then I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, but when I let out a huge snort, it's all over. The three of us cackle like a bunch of hyenas.

"Prunella Ironsnatch is admitting that dick is so good, she _loves_ it. Thank you, Lord, it's a miracle!" Rose says with an awed expression while looking up like she was thanking God directly. "Guess we have to change your nickname now," she teases.

"Sexella Slipperysnatch," Alice suggests, sizing me up and down with a nod of her head.

"Jesus, that's almost a tongue twister," I reply with a laugh.

"It is a mouthful," Rose agrees.

"Yes. Yes, he is," I pipe up, winking at her. I'm feeling pretty damn proud of myself beating Alice to her usual and very stale '_that's what she said!_' comeback.

"Listen to this girl, Ro! Making beej jokes and everything," Alice clucks like a demented mother hen. "Our baby is all grown up," she sniffles, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. We make our way into the T station and wait for our train to come.

"Okay, you guys need to stop already. Yes, I like sex with Edward. Yes, you were both right. It's fun. Well, it's better than fun. It's…indescribable," I say with a wistful sigh.

"Of course it's indescribable. Good sex always does that. Makes you dumb," Rose replies matter-of-factly. It finally dawns on me now why Rose always acts as if she's the expert on everything. She's had the sense screwed out of her so much, it screwed itself right back in again.

"Kills you a little, even," I agree. I laugh to myself when I think of what the French call _le petit mort_.

"Kills you softly?" Alice perks up, her giggling starting up again. She and Rose eye each other with a look that I know all too well.

Thank God the T arrives, because the insanely loud noise of metal grinding against metal as the train pulls into the station drowns out the sound of these two salacious chanteuses positively murdering an R&B classic. Rose sings lead, raising her hand high above her head and waving it like she's belting out a solo at a sold-out concert. She's still singing as we board the T and sit down.

"_Strumming my poon with his fingers,  
__Flicking my bean with his tongue_,  
_Killing me softly with his…_"

Alice and Rose both look at me and point, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

"Come on Bella," Rose nags, "'_killing me softly with his_…'" she prompts, waving her hand at me.

"Dong," I mutter under my breath, not bothering to sing. It's bad enough just saying '_dong_'. They snicker at my forced participation in their perversity.

"_Killing me softly_…_with his donnnn-ohnnn-ohnnn-ohnnng_…" Rose sings, eking the word out like a half-melted piece of toffee. I have to turn myself completely away when she starts twirling around the subway car pole like she's working the place for tips.

I conveniently occupy myself with looking through my recent purchases from the mall. Peering into the various bags and sifting through the wrapping tissue inside, I smile when I touch the soft material of my new silk minidress.

"You're gonna look hot in that outfit," Alice beams, practically bursting.

"Those shoes are adorable. I have damned good taste," Rosalie says with a smirk, congratulating herself for insisting I try on a pair of strappy red wedge-style heels while we were at Barney's.

"Are you excited about Easter?" Alice asks. "Your mom meeting Carlisle and Esme—that ought to be nice. I bet they'll get along great."

"I am pretty psyched, actually. They've been so cool. My mom and Esme will probably talk about art and cooking the whole time," I answer, smiling to myself.

"How are things going with Edward and Carlisle?" Alice inquires.

"You know, I thought it would be awkward—the two of them meeting for the first time—but it wasn't. It's crazy how alike they are," I explain. "Not just how they look, but their personalities, too. It's a little scary," I add, laughing to myself.

"So Daddy's a hot piece too, huh?" Rose butts in. Funny how she only pays attention long enough to confirm if Edward gets his looks from his dad.

"Oh, gross! I don't…who even wonders about that?" I reply, screwing up my face at her.

"What, you don't want a taste of sugar daddy's sugar cane?" Alice asks, clearly trying to make me puke in the middle of the subway.

"Can you sing another song about peen at the top of your lungs? I'd rather listen to that than stuff about Carlisle's sugar cane. Cos that is just ten kinds of disgusting," I tell them both as I roll my eyes and feel grossed out.

My suggestion about singing seems to do the trick. Before I know it, Alice and Rose decide that Kesha's _TiK ToK_ isn't nearly annoying enough as it is, so I have to listen to them sing a little something called _Lick Cock_ for the rest of the ride home.

Later that evening, I'm bummed to get a text from Edward saying he has to work late because of a sudden influx of patients in labor. I resign myself to a quick dinner by myself and text Edward a quick goodnight. My phone rings just as I curl up in bed.

"Hey you," I say after pressing the green _talk_ button.

"Hi, Brown Eyes," Edward says back to me.

"Miss me?" I ask, smiling into the phone.

"Of course, why else would I be calling?"

"I miss you, too. I was just settling in to go to sleep, but there's way too much room in my bed without you here. I can breathe and move freely. It's a little unsettling," I joke.

"Sorry you're so comfortably uncomfortable," he replies with a laugh.

"You on break?" I ask.

"Yeah, just for a few minutes. I'm in the lounge by myself right now. Thought I'd check in and say goodnight. I wish I was at home with you," he tells me, making my heart start to beat a little faster.

"I wish you were here, too," I reply, feeling a little lost having to sleep alone. "Oh," I say, remembering something from earlier. "Sorry about that stupid text from Alice earlier today. You know how she and Rose are," I explain, still a little miffed at my completely tactless friend. I hear Edward snicker on the other end of the line.

"Not a problem," he says with a laugh. "Speaking of which, I'd love to continue that conversation. I was hoping we could perhaps work in a lesson while we're at it," he adds, his voice changing to that same delicious purr that makes my toes curl.

"You were, huh? Something about…what did you call it? An '_event_' you were experiencing?" I ask. He doesn't answer; he just makes a humming sound at me.

"Yeah, I have an '_event_' right now that could use…a hand," he murmurs.

"A hand. I see," I reply, my lips curving into a smile. "Well, I wish I could use my own hand with your '_event_,' but I can't," I say, my voice echoing my disappointment as I frown to myself. I really would love for him to be next to me right now: kissing my neck, running his hands up and down my sides, cooing seductive words into my ear, and rubbing his body against mine.

"You could put your hand somewhere, if you like," he offers. "Would you like to try something new? Put your hand somewhere while we talk on the phone?"

"Where, _love_? Where should I put my hand? Tell me," I tease, already comfortable with the idea of experimenting. I hear Edward's breathing hitch, and then he groans softly. Picturing the look on his face as he groans makes me think it's getting a little warm in here all of a sudden, so I kick my blanket down to the foot of the bed.

"Brown Eyes…God, I can't stop thinking about you. Want to touch you, taste you, so badly, it's killing me. Please, put your hand between your legs. I need…" he says before his voice trails off and I hear him hiss.

His voice is so rich and deep, so masculine. I can literally feel how much he wants me just by listening to him talk. I can't really help myself when I do as he bids me to, and let my hand slip inside my PJs and under my panties.

"What do you need?" I ask. My voice is delicate, almost shaky. My finger lightly trails up and down where it's already become slick and warm.

"Need you to cum…if I can't see the way your body reacts to me, feel it underneath me, I need to hear the sounds you make. So sweet, so sexy," he moans.

"I love the way you touch me. Every single time, you make me feel amazing…you make me feel…_perfect_," I sigh.

"You are perfect. If I were in that bed with you right now…Jesus, what I'd do to you. Are you…touching yourself?" he asks. His breathing is becoming heavier, and hearing it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Yes. But I wish it was you…your hand, your fingers," I whisper. I feel slightly swept up in wanting him so much, in missing how the two of us just get lost in each other when we're together. "I love it when you're on top of me…love to feel your body pressing into me, big and strong," I say. I close my eyes and see Edward's face gazing down at me, his eyes boring into me. I can picture his jaw clenching, its muscles taut and bulging.

"The way you look at me…your eyes, God! Your eyes are so gorgeous when I'm on top of you—sensual, captivating. Want to look into your eyes…while my mouth is on your nipple…while my cock is inside you—fucking you until you scream my name," he pants.

"Yes, Edward, yes…gonna cum," I moan right before the burning ache building up between my legs peaks and explodes out of me. "Love the way you fuck me," I gasp.

"Shit," Edward groans. He makes that ridiculously sexy '_ah_' growl noise that he does when he cums. I sigh dreamily to myself and pull my blanket back up to my neck while I listen to him shift around, presumably to resolve the conclusion of his '_event_'.

"I love you," I whisper. "And I miss you."

"I love you, too. Sleep well, sweet girl," he whispers back.

"I'll try. Too bad there's no smooshing going on. Funny how being deprived of oxygen has grown on me," I say while trying to stifle a yawn.

"So I guess the compromised bloodflow to your brain explains why you love me?" he quips.

"You finally get it, Cullen. Took you long enough," I quip back.

"I was distracted by your breasts," he purrs.

"Thanks. I think," I laugh before yawning again.

"Sleep, Brown Eyes. I'll see you tomorrow," he urges.

"See you, _love_. Take care of the peanuts and then come straight home," I order.

"Yes, Mistress," he chuckles. "I can pick up your mom from the airport in the morning if you like. Just text me her flight info," he offers.

"Thanks, you're a very thoughtful slave."

"Again, the breasts have something to do with it."

"You did it all for the boobkie?" I giggle.

"Indeed. Good night, Brown Eyes."

"Good night, Smoosher."

With a light sigh and a big smile on my face, I drift off to sleep, all the while dreaming of the beautiful man with the boy's heart and devil's voice.

I wake up early the next morning for classes and some much needed time at the library. Making sure to text Edward my mom's flight information, I leave my apartment hoping to get through the early part of my day quickly so I can come back home to my two favorite people.

After sitting through a poetry writing seminar that seemed to last days, I finally reach the stoop of the brownstone and pull the front door open. The unmistakable smell of my mom's brunch cooking is probably the nicest thing to greet me all week. I've been missing my mom so much, and Edward working so many hours only compounded how lonely I've felt in the last few days.

"Hey, you're here," I say with a huge smile as I swing open my door and see my mom smiling back at me. We walk briskly toward each other and exchange a warm hug and kiss hello.

"Oh, baby girl. I've missed you," she sighs, rubbing my back as she embraces me again.

"I missed you, too, Mom. I'm so glad to see you," I tell her with a bit of an overzealous squeal in my voice.

"Shhh," she replies, putting her finger up to her lips before using her thumb to point at the couch behind her. I take a step to the side to look, where I find a very, _very_ exhausted Edward lying face-down and sprawled out, his feet sticking out over the padded armrest. My face turns into a pout at the sight of this poor, tired guy. I wonder how many punches to the arm and other physical abuses he had to endure while working.

"I fed him some French toast and bacon, and he passed right out," my mom tells me in a soft voice. "Reminds me of when Dad used to work overtime," she adds with a smile.

"He's been working double and triple shifts at the hospital so he can have the weekend off," I explain. Not able to resist, I step closer to him and gently stroke his hair. He sighs in his sleep and mumbles something about missing his Brown Eyes. I can't help looking embarrassed when my mom laughs quietly to herself.

"Come on, let's have brunch and catch up," she says, motioning me to go into the kitchen to eat at the tiny two-person café table I have there.

"Did you have good time in Tampa?" I ask as start helping myself to my mom's cooking.

"I did," Mom replies with a smile. "Your cousins are getting big. Aunt Shari can hardly keep up. Nona sends her love. She misses you," she adds, smiling back at me.

We chit-chat for a bit about family and eventually just eat quietly, the sounds of silverware moving being the only noise we make. The silence starts getting the best of me. For once, I wish my mother would be nosy and pepper me with questions about my love life. Now that I have a love life, that is.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at my mom. I know what she must be thinking, but is too afraid to bring up.

"Ask what?" she replies innocently as she cuts her French toast into bite-sized pieces.

"C'mon, Mom," I say back, rolling my eyes. "You _really_ don't want to know how things are going with me and Edward?"

"Oh, sure I want to know!" she exclaims. "I just don't think it's my place to ask," she says, shrugging her shoulder and shaking her head. "You usually get pretty uncomfortable about it," she adds, referring to how I used to bristle whenever she'd try to talk to me about guys.

"Edward's different. He's…" I try to explain, but unable it to put into words. "He's special to me. You know that," I remind her. I've spoken to her on the phone about it before, and it's been a few months now since Edward and I dropped our arrangement.

"I can tell," she observes, winking at me. "Whenever your name came up on the ride here from the airport, his face lit up like kid's in a candy store—just like yours is right now," she points out with a grin.

"Yeah," I say, looking down bashfully. "We're kinda crazy about each other," I admit while examining the swirls of cream in my coffee.

"Kinda?" she presses.

"Okay, okay. _A lot_ crazy," I confess with a goofy smile on my face. "The last few weeks with meeting his dad and that whole side of his family—it's been awesome. Edward's so happy," I explain. "I was in love with him even before that, you probably noticed," I add with an awkward laugh. "But to see him have so much in his life now…I just feel that much closer to him, because he wants to share it with me…I don't know, I'm babbling like an idiot," I say, shaking my head and inwardly chastising myself for getting carried away and positively moony in front of _my_ _mother_, of all people.

"Bella, you're definitely _not_ babbling, sweetie. In fact, that's the most sense you could possibly make out of how you're feeling. If anyone could logically piece apart their affection for someone, it would be you. Just like Charlie—a thinker," she muses as she leans the side of her head against her hand and smiles at me.

"Well, I don't want to over-think it. For once. I love him. He loves me," I say with finality before feeling a little silly over how trite that sounds, even if it _is_ true. "I'm kinda done with just analyzing feelings, I guess. It's why I got so burnt out with my thesis. Social work is different—a lot more satisfying," I explain.

"Funny thing about helping people. It's amazing how much it actually helps _you_. Teaching is that way. For your dad, so was being a cop," she surmises as she pats my arm.

I reach out to my mom and give her a tight hug to let her know how much I appreciate the way she understands and accepts me, no matter what.

"So, I'm guessing you don't plan on moving out any time soon?" my mom asks with a chuckle.

"Uh," I pretend to think. "No," I answer quickly, laughing right along with her. "Not going anywhere. Not without Edward, anyway," I confess.

"If he makes you happy, he makes me happy," she assures me with a smile. "A toast," she offers, raising her coffee mug to me. "To new beginnings," she says, tapping her cup against mine.

"To new beginnings," I repeat, laughing softly.

The next couple of days pass in a happy blur. My mom and I take in some shopping at the different shops around Harvard Square. I pick out a book or two for Edward to read during breaks at work—part of my plan to slowly expand his literary tastes beyond Sci-Fi and Fantasy and into genres that are slightly more urbane.

Between my mom and me, we manage to cook enough for meals that would feed an entire small village. Edward nearly dies of egg-induced bliss when my mother makes him a ham and cheese frittata for dinner on Saturday night. After positively stuffing ourselves, he and my mom watch a DVD while I force myself into seclusion in my bedroom to get some work done on a paper I need to write for class.

I sit on my bed with my headphones on and try to type, but between the huge dinner I ate, and how tired I am from a day of shopping, it all catches up to me, so I close my eyes. Before I know it, I tumble into a deep sleep.

"Hey, sleepy girl," I hear Edward's voice whisper in my ear. I feel the back of his hand graze my cheek very softly—his touch so light, gentle.

"Edward," I whisper back, smiling with my eyes closed. I put my arms out and hum a sigh, wanting him to lie down next to me.

"I shouldn't stay too long. The movie's over and we have an early day tomorrow. It's Easter and we promised my grandfather we'd go to his morning service," he explains as he sidles up beside me. He rolls me over slightly so that he can put his arm around my shoulder. "I just wanted to say goodnight," he adds, pulling me to him.

"Okay," I concede. "Say 'goodnight' until the sun comes up. Then stay to say 'good morning,'" I offer, giggling softly against his chest. This seems like a perfectly good reason for him to spend all night and all morning in bed with me. Well, a perfectly good _clean _reason, at least.

"You don't want to get caught with your shirt inside out again, do you?" he teases, chuckling into my hair before kissing my forehead. He knows just thinking about what would lead to my shirt getting put back on wrong gives me goosebumps, so I have no idea why he's even asking this question. It seems like an especially absurd thing to ask when I feel his fingertips lightly dance up and down the side of my ribcage.

"No, I don't especially want another wardrobe malfunction," I admit. "But what you're doing right now makes me not care," I argue, pursing my lips. I finally open my eyes now, and the sight of insane hair, stubbly whiskers, and a wicked half-smile never looked so good. We haven't had any '_quality time_' in days because he's been so busy and my mom's been visiting.

"Should I pretend to go upstairs for the night and then crawl through your window like some kind of creepy stalker? I can do creepy stalker. I'm not above that," he jokes as he runs the tip of his finger along my nose.

"You'd become a sociopath and commit breaking and entering just for little old me?" I joke back, batting my eyelashes at him.

"Well," he replies, shaking his head as he pretends to be thoughtful. "Sociopath is a bit strong. I prefer 'intensely focused,' if you want to argue semantics," he deadpans.

"'Intensely focused,'" I repeat, nodding my head. "I like that. I'm becoming 'intensely focused' on something right now," I snicker as I shamelessly let my hand roam over the outside of his shirt and a little south of his navel, where I can feel that there just might be another '_event_' imminent, if I play my cards right.

"Hey now, Brown Eyes, your mom could walk in here at any minute. I'm not about to try to leave with my pants on backwards," he says with a laugh as he gently wraps his hand around my wrist, forcing my palm to make a detour away from all the fun stuff. He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it before holding firmly in his. Clearly, I'm not to be trusted.

_With good reason_.

"Okay, then. If you _really_ want to leave and not hear about the pretty dress I bought to wear tomorrow…your call," I scoff, trying to sound nonchalant.

"How pretty?" he asks, looking curious, but also a little concerned.

"Very, very pretty," I murmur in his ear.

"You are determined to drive me crazy one way or another," he groans.

"But I love you, and you've already driven me crazy," I argue, scratching his chin with my fingers.

"I love you, too. More than I can say," he tells me before kissing me goodnight and slipping back out of the room.

I sit up on my bed just as my mom knocks on the door and comes in to grab her PJs from her suitcase. The expression on her face gets my attention right away. She looks sad despite the fact that she's smiling. It's a strange combination that I hardly ever see. In fact, I think the last time she looked like this was the day she and my dad dropped me off at Harvard for the first time, back when I was a freshman.

"Mom? Are you okay?" I ask, worried that something is bothering her.

She takes a seat next to me on the bed and puts her arm around me. She doesn't say anything for a few minutes, and just holds me really close to her. I lean my head on her shoulder and wonder what brought on this show of intense motherly affection, but I don't press her to answer. Sometimes it's nice to just let your mom do the things she used to do a lot more often.

"You're going to graduate next month," she says in a soft voice.

"Yep. That's been the plan for a while now," I reply with a laugh, tilting my head and looking at her. It's odd that she's saying something so obvious, but in a way that makes it sound as if this is a surprise to her.

"I wonder where the time goes sometimes. But you were always an old soul, always mature," she says wistfully.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask again, trying to figure out what put my mom in such a sentimental mood. "Did you make Edward watch _Steel Magnolias _or _Beaches_ or something?" I wonder out loud.

"No, no," she answers with a laugh. "Nothing like that, sweetie. It was a comedy, actually. Not very good," she explains, shaking her head. "We ended up talking, mostly. You know, I think I know what makes the two of you such a good match," she reveals, looking introspective.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" I ask, my curiosity piqued as to what my mom's take is.

"I think," she begins, sighing loudly. "You and Edward complement each other really well. You, my sweet child, take things a little too seriously sometimes," she quips, patting my thigh. "You can get so focused on your goals that you forget why you have them in the first place. But you stopped doing that. You stopped forgetting to make sure you're happy—since you met Edward."

"Yeah. I guess you're right about that," I answer, nodding my head.

"And he strikes me as the type of guy who probably knows how to say and do exactly the right thing in any situation, and without a lot of effort—but not around you. You make him think twice. You make him work for it, and I'm not sure if he's ever had to do that before," she surmises as she shakes her head. "And I think you guys are going to be happy together for a good, long while," she adds.

She gives me a kiss goodnight on my cheek and leaves the room before I can ask her just how long 'a good, long while' is, exactly.

Early the next morning, the loud blare of my alarm clock roughly jostles me awake. We need to get ready in time for the drive up to New Hampshire. My mom and I hustle and hurry past one another, jockeying between the bedroom and my tiny bathroom. Edward calls me three times to ask me something trivial. By the third call, I tell him I know he's just checking to make sure I'll be ready on time, and I would be, if he'd _stop calling_.

He knocks on my door just as I'm slipping on my new strappy red heels and smile to myself at his perfect timing. I adjust my dangly earrings and my wide-brimmed hat one last time to make sure they're on right.

The look on his face when he sees me almost makes me think I should change into something else. He's just standing there, completely frozen. It's like someone's hit him over the head with a blunt object. Edward's given me some seriously weird stares—some very sexy, very intense stares. But he's never looked brain-dead before. I decide quickly that this dress probably isn't as pretty on me as Rose and Alice had made me to think.

"Is it too much? Gaudy? Not flattering? Just plain ugly?" I ask nervously, looking myself over, up and down.

As I wait expectantly for him to answer, my eyes meander to the neatly-pressed, exquisitely-tailored navy blue suit and perfectly-knotted striped tie he's wearing, and suddenly I feel like I've gone stupid, too.

"Brown Eyes, I…" he sputters. "You look…"

"Beautiful," I sigh dreamily, my eyes going more glazed than a Krispy Kreme donut. The suit, the tie, his broad shoulders, long legs …it's a little too much. It's _a lot_ too much, but it's the best kind of 'too much' a girl could ever dream of, and then some.

Our mutual stupor is broken by the sound of my mom clearing her throat. Throat-clearing, I recently discovered, is the universal noise for 'stop acting like you're the only two people on the planet, even if it feels like you are.' People seem to clear their throats a lot when Edward and I are together. Even though I'm a pretty focused person, he makes me lose track of what I'm thinking or about to say, and even every last thing around me. This problem only seems to be getting worse, judging by how I'm reacting right now.

We manage to snap out of it and head downstairs. Edward has his arm around me as he leads me purposefully down the street. My mom is a few paces behind us, most likely keeping her distance deliberately. I get the impression from her knowing smiles and wistful sighs that we must be making her inner-mushball go into complete overdrive.

"That dress…is…not…_fair_," Edward simmers into my ear as we walk briskly to his car. Between staring down into my cleavage and glaring at every male within a twenty-foot radius, (regardless of said male's age or even species,) his eyes are pretty darn busy.

"Don't you like it?" I ask, feeling confused. My earlier question about whether I look nice still lingers in my mind, that is, until he answers it by the way he scowls at a passing _six-year-old_ boy, whose only indiscretion is chirping 'hullo, pretty lady!' before grinning at me with missing front teeth as he swings his mother's clasped hand in his.

"Edward, you just gave the _stink-eye_ to a little kid," I scold, my voice lowered in a slight hiss.

He stops dead in his tracks, turns to me, and blinks a few times.

"Did you not see the way he was ogling you?" he asks with heavy incredulity. "And his tone? Completely inappropriate," he adds, tilting his head and looking askance at me.

"Um, I pretty sure his mom wouldn't give him permission to ask me out," I reply sarcastically. I'd roll my eyes but I'm afraid they'd go so far up my head, they'd stay there permanently. The word 'excessive' barely begins to describe the level of Edward's jealousy and possessiveness.

"So, the dress is okay?" I ask again, now feeling a little exasperated at this point. I'm just trying to figure out if the outfit I have on crosses the border of _Happy, Fun Spring Dress City_ to the less desirable real estate located in _Too Much Fun Makes You Look Trampy…ville_.

Edward doesn't answer; he just puts his hand over his eyes and huffs.

"Did you just _facepalm_ at me?" I ask, mildly horrified. "That's it, I'm going upstairs to change," I mutter with annoyance as I spin my strappy red wedge-heeled shoes to beat a hasty retreat back up to my apartment. If I look like the Bay State Bimbo, he should have just said as much.

"Brown Eyes," he says hurriedly, grabbing my elbow. "No, please don't. Listen," he urges. I turn and face him. His eyes reflect a keen, childlike contrition that remind me of the bow-tied little boy who just walked past us. I nod quickly and wait for Edward to finish what he's saying.

"You look…amazing," he tells me in a soft voice. His hand lightly cups my cheek as I stare at the crack in my pavement in front of me. "The way that dress hugs you…God, your long legs with those heels you're wearing. Your face—how you've only got a bit of makeup on, and with your hair down around your shoulders…I'd say you're straight out of a fantasy, but I don't think my brain could come up with something this…_perfect_," he professes before tilting my chin up and kissing me.

"Oh," I respond in same stunningly articulate way I usually do when Edward pays me these $10 million compliments. In reality, they're worth way more than any amount of money.

Again, my mom interrupts us with more throat clearing, only it's louder and more insistent this time. _The_ _Universe of Bella and Edward, Population: 2_ will once again have to wait to be inhabited, preferably when we're actually alone. I look over at the source of the interruption and see my mom standing a good few feet away, next to Edward's car. She's nonchalantly checking her watch to hint in a not-so-subtle, albeit unspoken way, that we're about to start running late.

Time crunch or no time crunch, I pull Edward's lapel gently toward me and plant a generous kiss on the lips that are equally as generous—both in how plump and delicious they are, and in how they give me the richest, most decadent praise so freely and openly.

"Thank you," I say. "That was one of the sweetest things anyone's ever said to me," I confess with a shy smile.

"There's plenty more where that came from. That is, if I don't lose my mind first," he says with a smirk as he opens my car door for me.

The roads are quiet and we make good time on our ninety-minute trip north to Landaff, the small town of Edward's Cullen ancestors. The trees and wildflowers are in bloom again, making the scenery almost as nice to look at as the man who sits next to me as he drives with a contented smile on his face. I'd ask him what he's thinking, but I don't have the heart to disrupt whatever it is that's clearly put him in such a good mood.

We arrive at All Saint's Episcopal Church with enough time to greet Carlisle, Esme, and Patrick, who are waiting outside along with the other parishioners who are here to attend the service. I notice that everyone is dressed in their absolute Sunday best, even down to the very newest members of the flock, and I smile at the sight of their little faces in crisp lacey bonnets and their feet in tiny little baby booties.

Carlisle and Patrick introduce us to so many friends that I realize, fairly quickly, that I'll never remember all of their names. But their bright smiles and warm welcomes make a distinct impression on me.

Soon enough, it's time for us all to assemble inside. Everyone begins to stream inside the simple white clapboard-covered building as the bell housed high in its steeple summons us. The pews fill quickly, leaving Edward and me to sit behind Carlisle, Esme and my mom.

No sooner do we take our spot right next to the aisle than Edward places his hand on my knee. I shift my legs away without looking over at him, hoping my body language is enough to convey how unwilling I am to breach every last rule of common decency and etiquette—not even for Edward and his inhibition-dissolving charm, and not even if there's no one sitting on the other side of him. We're in a house of worship for…God's sake. On the second attempt to cover my knee with his palm, I smack his hand with my gloved fingers. By the third attempt, I grab his wrist and hold it tightly in my hand.

"Edward," I whisper sternly in his ear. "We're in church," I reprimand.

Just then, I hear a loud chuckle behind me. I turn around and see a small, old lady with amazingly unnatural blue-tinted hair pulled into a bun on top of her head. Her mouth forms a big smile, exaggerating the deep grooves of the laugh lines on her face.

"My Vernon is the same way," she tells me. "See!" she exclaims, pointing at her lap. I look over at the bald little old man sitting next to her. He smirks at her unabashedly as his aged hand squeezes her dress-covered knee. "Fresh! You're a fresh boy, Vernon!" she scolds, swatting his hand even though she's smiling. I have the feeling Fresh Boy Vernon still knows how to get his woman worked up.

I smile at him and he winks back at me. I hear the third instance of someone clearing their throat now, but this time it's Edward, and he does it while staring down poor Fresh Boy Vernon. I take this opportunity to turn back around and adjust my hat, smoothing out its wide brim as it rests in front of my head.

"Seriously, Edward?" I whisper in agitation as I lean toward him. "He's an old man. What's he gonna do, beat you with his walker and carry me off?"

"Nobody winks at you. I don't care how old he is," he replies calmly, his eyes staring out ahead of him.

I want to say something back, but I stop myself when the light strains of organ music begins, causing everyone to go quiet and focus their attention on the choir and the start of the service's processional.

The words printed on the hymnal in front of me go fuzzy when my thoughts drift slowly away from church and songs about faith and praise for the divine. I daydream about what life will be like when I'm as old as Mrs. Fresh Boy Vernon. Will I have a dirty old man of my own, sitting next to me, trying to cop a feel in church? I'd like to think it would be Edward doing the copping. In fact, it makes me smile just imagining it.

I sneak a glance at Edward's profile and wonder if he could ever look old. He's too handsome, I decide somewhat stupidly. But I still try to picture his sideburns and the hair at his temples turning silver, and the very slight lines in his forehead becoming pronounced. Would he still think I was pretty? Would he still pay me $10 million compliments and call me 'perfect'? The real question, to me at least, is whether it's in the cards for me to find out.

In just a few months, I've watched Edward's life change somewhat dramatically—watched _him_ change dramatically. I've gone from feeling like I only occupied a tiny little space in his life to knowing that I mean a lot to him. He confided in me about his parents, and when he needed someone to trust and look to for help, I gave him both of those things as much as I could. The effort was well and truly worth it, because the man sitting next to me doesn't hide behind a charming, superficial façade anymore. He's evolved into someone with an amazing amount of caring, both for me and for his newfound family.

Seeing him change for the better in these ways has been well worth the rollercoaster ride so far. And I have to admit, I really don't want it to end anytime soon.

I stop daydreaming when I notice everyone begin to stand and form a line at the altar to receive their Communion wafer for the Eucharist. I feel Edward's hand against the small of my back, gently guiding me forward so that I can be ahead of him as we join the other parishioners and wait. I turn and smile at him a few times, unable to resist the sheepish expression on his face. I'd bet dollars to dimes he was checking out my butt while I was walking in front of him, and it's probably just occurring to him after the fact that checking out butts in church, no matter how much you love who they're attached to, does _not _amuse God one bit.

He squeezes my hand and whispers a soft 'I love you' into my ear. His whiskers lightly scrape and tickle my neck, making me smile and shrink back a tiny bit. I decide that if he keeps this up, I'm changing his name to Fresh Boy Edward.

After receiving the sacrament and saying a little prayer of thanks, I take a tiny step toward our pew while desperately fighting the urge to look over my shoulder at Edward. I know what he's doing right now and sneaking a glimpse is just…_wrong_. It's more wrong than touching someone's knee or even watching their butt.

_It's wrong, Bella. Really, really wrong. Don't look. Do. Not. Look._

Of course, I turn my head and look.

And there's Edward, kneeling down at the alter rail. He closes his eyes, then opens his mouth and his sticks out his tongue just as one of Patrick's ministers places a wafer on it. It's with a complete lapse of judgment that I attempt to walk backward and continue staring, so it really shouldn't shock me when I collide right into the person walking a couple of paces ahead of me. Edward just looks at me and smirks. I mutter a genuine 'I'm sorry' to the poor older woman in a bright orange-feathered hat.

_And God, I believe I also owe you an apology. Impure thoughts and all that. _

At the end of the service, a large group gathers in the church courtyard for coffee and dainty little sugar cookies baked by the older parishioners Mrs. Fresh Boy Vernon and her friend, Orange Hat Lady. The two of them smile and ply me with cookies while Esme is busy chatting with my mom and a few other people a good distance away. I spot Patrick, with Edward closely by his side, proudly introducing his grandson to some of his congregants.

"Ruth Anne, this is the young lady friend of Reverend Pat's grandson," Mrs. Fresh Boy Vernon informs Orange Hat Lady. "You've seen him, haven't you? Handsome boy, isn't he?" she asks her friend in a loud voice as she pats my arm and piles more cookies onto my paper plate.

"What was your name, sweetheart?" Orange Hat Lady, otherwise known as Ruth Anne, asks me. She, too, seems to raise her voice unnecessarily.

"Bella," I manage to say, covering my mouth as I chew. When I have to repeat myself several times to be heard, it dawns on me that these old ladies are slightly deaf.

"Oh, Franny, that means 'pretty' in Italian. Did you know that? And she is pretty," Ruth Anne trills, somewhat too loudly, catching the notice of people standing around us. I feel pretty conspicuous right now with these two well-meaning, yet very obviously hard-of-hearing chatterboxes calling unnecessary attention to me and my cookie chewing. I want to discreetly slip away, but they have me cornered. I try my hardest to hide beneath the wide brim of my hat.

"Happy Easter, ladies. Nice to see you," I hear a voice say. I look up and see Carlisle greeting Ruth Anne and Franny with a friendly smile. After heaping a generous amount of compliments on them about their sugar cookies, he manages to maneuver me away from their entirely too-loud voices and into a quieter area of the crowd.

"Thank you," I say with a laugh. "I was looking for an escape route and almost gave up hope."

"Don't mention it. Ruth and Franny are sisters. I've known them since I was a kid. They were always loud. Now they're just louder," he explains with a big smile.

"Thank you for inviting us today, by the way," I say, grateful for the chance to spend more time with Edward's family and to meet their friends.

"Oh, you're welcome. I'm glad you could make it. You didn't have to change any of your usual holiday plans to be here, I hope?" he asks.

"No. My mom and I probably would've just had dinner at my apartment, by ourselves. We, uh, lost my dad last year, so holidays…" I reveal, shrugging my shoulders. "We just don't have 'usual' plans any more, really," I add awkwardly.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Bella. Edward did mention it to me—a couple of weeks ago, at the driving range," he says, looking regretful for inadvertently causing me to bring up a sad subject.

"Thank you, Carlisle," I reply. "I'm glad that you and Edward are getting along so well," I tell him, genuinely happy for the close friendship already forming between them. "He really looks forward to golf on Wednesdays and Esme's cooking on Sunday nights," I divulge.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't look forward to it, too. And, I have to say, I owe you a debt of gratitude, Bella, I really do. I'm not sure Edward would be standing here right now without your help," he tells me. I recognize his earnest expression as the one I've seen on Edward's face so many times. That alone is reward enough for me.

"I just did what I could. He needed help, and I wanted him to be happy," I explain with a smile. "It was nothing, really," I try to say before Carlisle interrupts me.

"It wasn't exactly 'nothing,'" he says, smiling at me. "Not if you ask me. And I'm fairly certain Edward would agree. You're obviously pretty important to him, and I can see why," he adds with a smile.

I appreciate Carlisle's kind sentiments, but it really doesn't feel like I did much for Edward. Of course, it was an emotional experience meeting his grandmother and tracking down the details from his past. Reading his mother's journal was pretty gut-wrenching, but I'd read a hundred journals if it meant it would help to heal whatever pain lingered inside him. And more than that, suffering through something with him, even _for_ him, was infinitely better than being happy but alone.

The crowd of churchgoers starts dispersing and soon we head over to Carlisle's house for an early Easter dinner. Esme treats us to a lavish sit-down meal with the same warmth and hospitality that she always does. The door to the Cullen home is literally always open, and a constant stream of neighbors and friends pass through to wish 'Reverend Pat,' 'Doc,' and 'Ms. E' a happy Easter. Just like at church, more people are introduced to Edward.

One thing is clear to me now: if it's awkward at all for him to explain who he is exactly, he sure doesn't show it, and I don't think he has any reason to feel that way. This is, after all, an especially tightly-knit group of people who have known the Cullens for years. It's obvious how much they care about and respect Edward's family—so much so that the same friendship and kindness is immediately extended to him.

An especially happy thought crosses my mind. Edward doesn't just have a family: he has an entire small community to connect with, should he want to. He doesn't have to feel alone and like there's no place where he belongs, ever again.

Before I know it, the day is over. My mom, Edward, and I drive back to Cambridge, our stomachs (and hearts) completely full.

Early the next morning, I say a long goodbye to my mom right before Edward drops her off at the airport on his way to his thirty-six hour shift at the hospital. I'll be seeing her again in a little over a month for graduation, which makes things a lot easier on both of us.

"Bye, baby girl. Take care, okay?" she asks before hugging me one last time.

"Bye, Mom. I will, I promise," I reply.

"I love you," she says, softly patting my cheek.

"We said 'I love you' already. But I love you, too. Again," I laugh.

Shaking my head and laughing some more, I can't help but think that my mom has gotten a little _emo_ in her old age. She spent most of the weekend being in this strange mood and I hope she seems more like herself the next time I see her.

The next couple of days pass at a snail's pace. Edward's long shift seems endless. I miss him and try to occupy my time as best I can. Clock-watching during class and popping DVDs into my laptop while at home alone don't manage to make the time pass more quickly, even though I hope they do.

Thankfully, Edward's long stint at work finally ends after midnight—more than two days after it began. When he knocks on my door, I'm barely awake enough to open it so he can sneak in bed with me, but I'm glad he's finally home, regardless. The second I lie down and he kisses me goodnight, I fall sound asleep. The last things I remember are the smooshing I've been missing so much, and a very sneaky hand groping my boob.

I wake up the next morning feeling eerily…_unsmooshed_. There's no one in the bed but me, which is odd because Edward almost never wakes up before I do, especially if he's had a long shift and needs rest.

I sit up, my hair a tangled mess, and a quizzical expression on my face. A quick look around my empty bedroom confirms that I really am alone.

"This is…weird," I say, to no one in particular.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I try to shake the sour, empty feeling I have from waking up without someone pressed up against me and snoring in my ear. I miss those arms and legs that ensnare me and hold my body captive, even though my heart is his and probably always will be.

I walk into the bathroom and hope that washing up will do me some good. After giving my face a good splash and brushing the complete craziness that is my hair, I inspect my face in the mirror.

"You've got it bad, Swan," I tell myself. "You love him so much, it hurts not to wake up next to him," I mumble, stating out loud what I already know.

Making my way into the kitchen, my heart sinks a little at the sight of a note taped to the coffee maker. Gently peeling the scotch tape that holds it in place, I pull the piece of paper closer to me so I can read it. I feel a sting of disappointment because my only guess is that Edward probably got called in to the hospital, and once again we'll have to spend yet another big chunk of time apart.

_Brown Eyes—Got up early to make you breakfast for a change. Meet me upstairs when you're awake. Love you, Edward_

I take a deep breath and smile to myself. This is different. But this is _good_ different. I feel so relieved and happy to have Edward to myself that I hold that piece of paper up to my lips. I run my fingers over the ridges and lines made by the indentations of his fingers pressing the pen into the paper.

"God, I miss you," I tell the note in my hand.

I jog up the stairs to Edward's apartment just as fast as I can, and grin when I see that his door is slightly ajar. He's waiting for me. He _always _waits for me.

Walking into his quiet apartment, I wander over to the dining table and take a seat. I notice another little note perched on top of the place setting in front of me, along with the crossword section of the newspaper and a pencil sitting next to my fork.

_Help yourself to some pancakes. I'll be right there. Start the crossword if you like, or wait. You know you'll need me to give you the answers anyway._

"Ha!" I huff to myself. He's not even in the room yet and he's already getting under my skin. "I'll show you about needing answers, Dr. McSmartyPants," I mumble. My happy mood is slightly sabotaged by an unruly sense of indignation.

Helping myself to some pancakes from the covered ceramic dish in the center of the table, I pile up a nice stack of flapjacks and drown them with maple syrup before cutting it all up into bite-sized pieces. Snatching the newspaper up, I give it a very unceremoniously snap with a flick of my wrists to unfurl it, and alternate between diving into the crossword and into my breakfast.

The first clue is almost too easy, and I give myself a little internal fist bump when the answer pops into my head almost immediately.

_Essential missive for any successful grant writer_

I carefully jot the letters _PROPOSAL_ in the eight little squares allotted for it.

"How do you like them apples, Dr. 'I-Can-Solve-a-Rubiks-Cube-in-Thirty-Seconds'? I can do this without needing your help," I gripe, feeling a smug little smile of satisfaction on my face before I stuff a large chunk of pancake into my mouth.

The second clue is also pretty simple. Edward is, frankly, a little too eager to point out that I've asked him for help maybe a handful of times, at most.

_Boy Scouts and weavers do this expertly_

Shaking my head, I laugh at how he loves to convince himself that I can't even do a crossword without his chivalrous attending to my every little trifling need. I'm no lexical damsel in distress.

I write the words _TYINGTHEKNOT_ in the appropriate solution space.

"I'm about to get a degree in English from _Harvard_," I spout, literally turning my nose up in the air. With a swoop of my arm, I spear some more pancake with my fork and shovel it into my mouth.

By the time I read the third clue, I swear, I might just punch Edward. I don't know why I'm so irritated at him. I'm just bothered by how freaking easy this crossword is. He _must_ have seen these clues when he pulled this section out of the paper. He had to have realized that telling me I should wait for his inevitable help would come across as just a _little_ condescending.

_Famous widow, musician, and Hole vocalist's house of worship?_

"Bitch, please!" I mutter, completely underwhelmed by the lack of any sort of challenge to my wits.

_CHAPELOFLOVE_

"I mean, _duh_!" I complain sarcastically. "Courtney _Love_…chapel of love," I say, repeating out loud what took me all of ten seconds to figure out in my head.

I start doing a little bit of happy dance in my chair as the words _Chapel of Love_ remind me of the song with the same name. I start humming the melody to myself as I scoop up another giant bite of pancake.

"_Goin' to the chapel and we're…gonna get ma-ah-ah-reeed…goin' to the chapel of love_," I sing aloud, despite the fact that I have a pretty huge mouthful of food in my mouth.

"_Goin' to the cha…pel…?_" I try to sing again, but stop, my words fizzling out. My jaw drops slightly and I just become completely still, despite the fact that my mouth is in mid-chew.

There's a weird pattern here. These clues all have to do with marriage and weddings. It's not Valentine's Day. It's not even close to Valentine's Day. Why are all these clues about getting married?

I'm not sure I would even see this pattern were it not for the next clue.

_To move in the direction of metal chiming, perhaps to attend a nuptial ceremony?_

'Metal chiming' makes me think of a bell, which is funny because my dad used to call me 'Bells' when I was a kid. 'To move in the direction' is just a long way of saying 'toward'. If you move toward a bell, you're going _bellward_…

I quickly scribble the answer _BELLWARD_ onto the puzzle, and my heart skips a beat or two when I look at the letters I just wrote down.

Bella and Edward…_bellward_. I suspect that this is really a crazy coincidence. Our names just happen to form a real word. Well, I can admit that it's a pretty _odd_ word, but it's probably real. I think to myself that maybe I should get online and look up those people who make the _Scrabble_ game, because they seem to have a really firm grasp of what words are real and what aren't.

I swallow my pancakes (finally) with a long, hard gulp and even shut my eyes really tightly to push it all down. Taking a long sip of orange juice, I suddenly wish it had some of what I drunkenly called '_Gay Groose_' vodka in it, like at the holiday party for Edward's work. It dawns on me that was the night I said 'I love you' to him for the first time. Even better, it was the night he told me he loved me, too. That night created one of the happiest memories of my life because it was the night that we decided to be together. My life…_Bella's life_…with Edward's.

_Bellward_.

I suddenly forget all about how mad I am and how much I need to prove that I can do my own crossword puzzle. In fact, I'm beginning to feel slightly anxious, but almost in a euphoric way. I'm not panicked, just extremely…I don't even know.

_Merge this melodic, aviary body of water with the surname of a well-known Harlem Renaissance-era poet_

'Melodic aviary body of water' is easy. It's Swan Lake. When you share a last name with something that famous, it sticks with you. I also know that the Harlem Renaissance poet can only be one person, because I already figured out that the solution has an 'L' as its seventh letter. It's the poet Countee _Cullen_. When I put the two names together, I get:

_SWANCULLEN_

It's only after hearing the loud _clang_ noise of metal hitting china that I realize I dropped my fork. Dropping my fork is probably for the best because I was about to use it to write the answer into my crossword. _A fork is a pretty poor substitute for a pencil, after all_, I think with a nervous laugh.

I guess I must be zoning out because someone is clearing their throat again. I don't see who it is because all I can do is stare at the words in my puzzle as they become swimmy and blurry. A little wet dot splashes onto my newspaper, and I quickly dab it with my sleeve.

"Brown Eyes?" Edward says, turning my face with his hand against my chin.

There, on one knee, is my Edward. In his palm sits a small, open velvet box with a ring inside it.

"I'm in my pajamas," I stammer nonsensically.

"That you are," he says with a laugh. "Those are my favorite, though," he informs me.

"You like Hello Kitty?" I ask, dumbfounded as I stare down at my Bad Badtz Maru PJs.

"No," he replies, tilting his head down and chuckling. "I just like you in them."

"Oh," is my simple response. "I have other clothes. I can change and come back," I offer. For some reason, being in my pajamas with my hair like a rat's nest and the sleep barely rubbed from my eyes just seems incredibly unacceptable right now. I feel like I should be dressed like Cinderella or at least have some mascara on or _something_.

"Bella," he says. This gets my attention. Edward almost never calls me Bella. "I need to ask you a question," he tells me, gently placing the small box on the table and removing the ring inside it.

"The crossword," I say, pointing to the paper. For some reason, my brain is on some kind of delay. Normally, I'd be capable of piecing all this together myself, but I need some help getting the penny to drop.

"It's personalized," he answers with a smile that expresses a kind of happiness that shines through his whole face. It's just like my mom said: _like a kid in a candy store_. "I had it custom-printed," he adds.

"For me?" I ask, completely oblivious to things that should be a little obvious.

"For you," he confirms, kissing my palm.

"Why?"

"I'm trying to get to that, if you'll let me," he laughs.

"Why are you kneeling?" I ask, hoping he'd remember what I told him the night of our big fight outside the brownstone. I don't like it when he kneels.

"It's my turn to ask a question, Brown Eyes," he scolds gently, before taking my hand in his.

"Okay, but can I just do something?" I ask quickly as I slide off my chair. Edward sighs and bows his head. He's starting to look a little exasperated. He doesn't lift his gaze back to me until I'm also kneeling, right in front of him.

"Somehow, I knew you weren't going to make this easy for me," he says with a laugh as he shakes his head. "This is why I wanted to surprise you. I was hoping it would stun you into submission and you'd sit quietly for a good thirty seconds," he jokes. At least, I think he's joking.

"But I told you not to kneel in front of me, don't you remember?" I ask. Edward just looks at me for a second and closes his eyes, like he's trying to compose himself.

"May I _please_ ask my question now, Brown Eyes?" he asks in a calm voice even though it looks like he's trying to sound calm and it isn't easy for him.

"No," I say. "Wait!" I add quickly, desperate to correct how bad my answer sounded when I didn't mean for it to. "I mean _not yet_! Do I have to get back in the chair?"

"Not if you really don't want to," he answers in a slightly defeated tone. I think my neurotic antics are testing his patience.

"I really don't want to. It's not necessary. I prefer it this way, but I can sit back down if…" I ramble. Now I'm nervous and feel stupid. And I love him too much to sit there while he kneels, which is why I _don't_ want to sit in the chair.

"Fine," he cuts in. "Please just pick one. When you're ready, let me know. I'm just here on _bended knee_ attempting to formally ask you something," he starts to lecture. "It's not as if this is a moment in a man's life that is impressed upon him from a very early age to be of incredible significance or anything," he continues, clearly dancing a very fine line between mildly annoyed and truly perturbed. He closes his eyes and runs his hand through his hair.

"Edward?" I peep. I think it's time for me to explain something before he changes his mind altogether.

"Hmm?"

"Can I tell you why I don't want to sit in the chair?" I ask in a small voice. He nods and waits for me to continue. "I, uh…" I begin, feeling my face tighten up and a lump form in my throat. "I don't want to sit in the chair with you kneeling in front of me…because I don't want to look down at the bravest man I know. I only want to look up to him. That's all I wanted to say," I confess, wiping my wet cheek with the back of my hand.

"Thank you, Brown Eyes," he says before kissing both my hands and cupping my face with his palms. "I'm humbled, hearing you say that. I wanted to be a better man for you. I hope the man I am now makes you happy, because that's all I ever want to do—make you happy," he tells me.

"I love you, so much," I say, hugging him as tightly as I can.

"I think I loved you before I even realized it," he confesses. "There's nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I would love to do that, too."

"You'll marry me?" he asks, looking unsure but also very hopeful. I see that little boy in his expression, the very same one caught me so off guard when I first met him. That little boy who was bad despite himself now only wants my love and approval.

"Yes, _love_. Yes," I reply, grinning from ear to ear. He plants kisses all over my face, first paying special attention to my wet eyes, and then lingering on my lips. I don't understand why he pulls away suddenly.

"I should ask my question properly," he explains. He holds my left hand while the beautiful diamond ring sits between his thumb and index finger.

"I want to make a joke about whether or not you understand that marriage means no more hoochies ever again, but I'm afraid you'll get mad," I confess, trying to suppress a smirk.

"Brown Eyes—will you _please_ allow me propose to you properly?" he urges, even though he's laughing.

"Sorry, sorry," I offer quickly. This time, I clear my throat, but it's only to will myself to be calm and not crack jokes to ease the tension. "Carry on," I insist.

"Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" he asks. I look into his eyes as my mind drifts back to all the important moments between us. There was the night he surprised me with a fort on our first 'real' date. Then I think about my birthday, when we were both completely torn between what we wanted physically and what we needed emotionally. Of course I remember our first time together, when we only 'pretended' we were making love, but we weren't really pretending at all. There were times when he offered me comfort and kindness, empathy and warmth. He made me feel loved, wanted, cared for. There was never any arrangement—there were only two lonely people, fated to find happiness in one another. Edward promised me 'over the top happy' the night we said 'I love you' to each other, and he's fulfilled that promise to me.

"Yes," I say in a scratchy voice as I get choked up again. "I accept," extending my left ring finger as he gently slides the ring past my second knuckle. I cover my face with my other hand because I just can't hold back my happy tears.

"No crying. Or venting. Or whatever you're going to call it," Edward insists, smirking at me as he dabs at my cheeks with a napkin. He'll always be a _Wussolini_, no matter how many times I tell him not to be.

"Okay, no crying," I agree half-heartedly as I try to stifle a little sob. We both laugh at how unsuccessful I am at getting the tears to stop.

I lift up my hand and inspect the prettiest antique diamond engagement ring I've ever seen. I let out a long, dreamy sigh and smile to myself. I might be in my pajamas, but I do feel like I'm in a fairytale right now…the awkward bookworm who fell in love with the sheep disguised as a wolf. A bit of a twisted tale, to be sure, but it's _my_ 'happily ever after' just the same.

"Do you like it?" Edward asks hesitantly, referring to the ring. "It's the one Carlisle wanted to propose to my mother with," he explains in a soft voice.

"I love it, Edward. It's perfect. In fact, it's _better _than perfect," I clarify, recalling the crazy made-up word I used to describe our first time to Alice and Rose.

"Better than perfect?" he asks, wrapping his arms around me before I rest my hand on his shoulder.

"It's Magi-fantisti-wonder-ifical," I proclaim.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN! **

**Alright, so it's not a cliffy. Sue me! (Yes, there's more to the story.)**

**Okay, couple of things I want to mention, sorry for the long a/n.**

**There's a very worthwhile fundraiser going on to support the Nashville flood relief effort. With a $5 donation to the charity of your choice, you'll get brand new fic (one-shots, side-shots, twific, original fic) from a very generous list of your fave writers. Here's a link with all the info you need for donating or for volunteering to write your own piece.**

**h**** t t p : // community . livejournal . com / ficsfornash / 474 . html**

**I'll be writing a side-shot of TNGUS, more specifically, an earlier chapter in his POV, similar to what I wrote for the Haiti charity. :o)**

**Next, I'm proud to announce that TNGUS has been nominated for a Giggle/Snort comedy award in the 'Best Bella' category. Please check out their web site and vote for your faves.**

**h t t p : // gigglesnortawards . mmmboptastic . com / nominations . php**

**Last, I've joined up with some amazingly funny ladies to write for the RobNipulations blog. If you've never seen a RobNip, you are missing out! Go here to see what I'm talking about:**

**h**** t t p : // robnipulations . wordpress . com /**

**Until next time, friends. Thanks for reading! ::MWAH::**

**p.s. Happy Birthday to what's his schmiggity schmoo.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Hello, and thanks for stopping by! I know it's been an age since I updated. Real life, writer's block, too much RobPr0n, yadda yadda. **

**Thank you to my beta and wonderful friend Nina, aka WriteOnTime, for her help and booty swats over my excessive use of dialog tags. I got a monkey on my back. She captures it and sends it to the local bad writers' petting zoo.**

**Thanks to Pinkpixiechick, Miztrezboo and DragonsExist for their friendship, support, and advice.**

**The final chapter of TNGUS will be in two parts. This is part one. No actual monkeys were harmed in the writing of this update.**

**I don't own Twilight. I'm just unoriginal.**

**TNGUSPOV**

"No, no, no!" I whisper urgently as I try to soothe the beautiful girl who's sniffling softly as she talks into her cell phone. Looking up at me, she shakes her head 'no' at me for a second before swatting my hand away from her cheek.

I fully realize that she's crying happy tears while speaking with her mother on the phone, but I can't help wanting to soothe her. We've both had enough emotional moments to last us quite a long while. From here on out, I only want to see her smile and laugh; to fill her days with contented sighs, and maybe some lustful ones, too. Well, not maybe. Definitely.

"Now I know why you were in such a funny mood while you were here," Bella says to her mother over the phone. "Oh, he did, did he?" she asks rhetorically while shooting me a playful glare.

Indeed, I did. When Renée was visiting over Easter weekend, I took the opportunity to speak with her privately while Bella was napping. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd like to do everything the right way, and seeking her mother's blessing is part of that. To my mild surprise, Renée readily gave her support. I fully anticipated her reticence, to be honest. Bella and I have only been together for five months, and it was a mere three months ago that we'd shared our true feelings for one another.

Our relationship might seem rushed to the outside observer, but the moment Carlisle gave me the Cullen family engagement ring—the one worn by generations of happily married women—I knew I couldn't wait too long to propose to Brown Eyes. I'd had too many meaningless encounters, too many random, exclusively-physical trysts with women I knew I'd never see again. In retrospect, I now see that the way I carried on was something akin to starving to death and only eating a handful of stale crackers. I was 'starved' for something _real_, something substantial. I knew I had that something with Bella, and I didn't want to ever let it go.

Yet, despite my eagerness to move forward, I still anticipated that Renée would be more hesitant. Thankfully, she wasn't very surprised and didn't give me the 'you ought to slow it down' lecture I was thoroughly expecting. In fact, she related to me the many parallels she saw between my relationship with Brown Eyes and her own marriage to Charlie—mainly how two seemingly ill-suited people could, in fact, balance one another out. She saw how happy we are and told me she gave me her wholehearted approval. In return, I promised to always put Bella's needs before my own, no matter what.

"Well, aren't you a sneaky one?" Brown Eyes says with a giggle as she tosses her phone onto the coffee table in front of us and hoists herself onto my lap.

"Me? Sneaky? I don't know what you could possibly mean," I reply, pretending to take offense.

"Oh, you couldn't possibly, huh? I should've known why my mom was acting so weird. She was awfully sentimental that night I napped in my room—when you guys were alone and talking," she says, piecing together what was kept from her for the sake of not spoiling my surprise proposal.

"Like I said Brown Eyes, I was trying to surprise you," I explain. "And of course I had to talk with your mom. I didn't feel right proposing to you without her blessing. It just felt like the right thing to do." I gently kiss her forehead.

"It _was_ sweet of you," she says with a smile. "My mom really does like you. And she's very happy for us."

Brown Eyes hops off my lap to clear the table, our breakfast long since forgotten in light of our brand-new engagement. I simply sit and watch her as she flutters back and forth between the dining table and the kitchen, a huge smile adorning her face. I can't keep from laughing when she becomes more than a little punch drunk, and starts to talk to herself.

"This is Edward," she says to no one in particular. "My _fiancé_," she adds, gesturing at me with a butter knife before disappearing into the kitchen.

Before I know it, she pops back out again, this time lightly flapping one of her rubber kitchen gloves in my direction.

"Have you met Edward? He and I are _affianced_," she explains to an imaginary person.

By the third go-around, I'm finding this almost as amusing as when she carried on while doing the crossword I had specially-made for her—_almost_.

"Edward, these are your past hoochies. Past hoochies, this is my Edward," she gestures between me and the completely empty space next to her. "He's my _fiancé_. I'll say it slowly so you can all understand. _Feeee-ahn-sey_! Like _Beeee-ahn-sey_. 'Put a ring on it?' Yeah, he totally did. That makes him…that's right!" she gloats, rocking her head from side to side. "My _fiancé_."

She follows up this fantasized betrothal pissing contest with a little happy dance that's part Snoopy, part…motor-neurological convulsion of some sort. Nonetheless, it's really rather cute.

"I can't stop saying it," she gushes with a big grin.

"I noticed," I say back with a laugh.

"It's just that…I've never called anyone that before," she explains, her face taking on a dreamy, faraway look.

"I should hope not. Or you would have 'alotta 'splainin' to do'," I say in my best Ricky Ricardo voice while eyeing her playfully.

"No, no 'splainin. Just happy," she sighs as she climbs back onto my lap.

"Hey listen. I, uh, know we haven't talked about this yet," I begin, my tone getting more serious. I try to feel as optimistic as I can despite my slightly frayed nerves over how she'll react. "But have you thought about when you'd like to get married?"

"I did, actually," she replies, looking just as anxious as me as she plays with my hand. "But then it made me nervous, so I stopped thinking about it."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I'm nervous, too?" I still her hand as it fiddles with my finger and kissing her palm.

"Yes," she says with a long sigh as she looks into my eyes. "Why are you nervous?"

"Well, I'm worried you might think we're rushing. I'm worried _I_ might think I'm rushing," I confess.

"Do you think we are—rushing, that is?"

"Brain says 'maybe'," I explain, pointing to my temple. Then, I point to the left side of my chest. "Heart says 'no'," I add, grinning broadly. "What about you?"

"Brain says 'maybe'. Heart says 'elope tomorrow'." Peals of her sweet, beautiful laughter escape from her.

"Elope tomorrow, huh?" I confirm, unable to laugh along with her. Something about this intense euphoria we both feel just makes perfect sense, no matter how illogical it is. I don't know if it's complete lunacy or complete sanity. Just as it's always been between us, from the very beginning, nothing is what it seems. We just have to go with what feels right. And this feels incredibly right.

"Trust me, Edward, ever since I've met you, my heart's been really good at convincing my brain to just shut the hell up," she confesses with a giddy smile. "And I don't regret letting my heart win out. Not for one second."

"Less nervous now?" I ask.

"Definitely," she replies, kissing me sweetly.

"Good. I have a request for you, then. If I may be so bold."

"Lay it on me," she answers, scratching the whiskers on my chin with the tips of her fingers.

"I want something really special for my birthday," I say with a smirk.

"You want to get married on your birthday?" she asks, looking at me with surprise. Her mild shock then turns to suspicion. "Is this so you won't forget our anniversary?"

"Ha, ha. Very funny. No, it's not so I won't forget the date. But thanks for your faith in me, Brown Eyes," I add, tickling her ribs to get back at her. I stop when she squirms uncontrollably and assures me she's only teasing.

"Okay. Fine. Then why do you want to get married on your birthday?" she presses.

"Because," I begin as I kiss each one of her fingers, and linger on the one in which she wears her engagement ring. "It's the day I was born, but if you marry me on that day too, it will always remind me that it's also the day I really started living," I profess before holding her face in my hands.

"How can I say 'no' when you say things like that?" she replies, closing her eyes and leaning her head into my palm.

"You'll do it then, sweet girl? Marry me on my birthday?" I ask again, wanting nothing more than her complete confirmation.

"Head says 'crazy', but heart says 'definitely'," she whispers, right before kissing me deeply.

"What?" I ask, noticing a crease forming on her face, making her look worried.

"I'm just thinking…two and a half months isn't a lot of time. Even if it is a small wedding, there's still a lot to do in ten weeks. I mean...where would we live? Neither of our apartments is big enough for both of us. I suppose I could live here; I'd have to keep most of my stuff at my place, but I can't chip in for your rent and pay for mine, too," she thinks out loud, her mind obviously racing.

_Oh shit. I knew I should have brought this up sooner._

"Damn it, I don't even know if I _can_ keep my apartment. I don't even have a lease. It's a month-to-month. What if the landlord wants me to move out?" she continues, her panic growing.

"Um. You know…about that. I was meaning to bring this up," I begin, laughing nervously. "I, uh, I sorta know the landlord. Not a bad guy, actually. Quite reasonable…forthcoming…trustworthy, you know, _usually_," I stammer.

I stare at Brown Eyes' face and can almost see the wheels turning in her head. She's an intelligent woman whose father was a detective, for crying out loud. Not only that, but she seems to have an uncannily intuitive sense for when I'm being evasive or speaking in half-truths. From there, all she has to do is piece things together and I'm done for. To say that I'm up shit's creek is an understatement.

"You _know_ the landlord?" she asks, raising that same inquisitive eyebrow at me that she always does when she asks me questions she already knows the answer to.

"Yeah…you could say that," I offer, my voice slightly shaky as my eyes go from her face, to the floor, and back to her face again. I smile nervously.

"Edward," she begins, squinting at me as she grabs my face and forces me to look at her. "Would _you_, by any chance, _be_ the landlord?" she presses, her eyes boring into me.

"Um, kind of?" I offer pathetically.

"Kind of?" she repeats back. "How can you be the landlord—kind of?"

"Because the brownstone is owned by Masen Holdings—the trust. If you look at your lease, that's the name listed. So, you know, technically, it's not really mine," I try to explain, hardly convinced by my own bullshit.

"Okay, let me get this straight," she replies, shaking her head at me before scratching her forehead. "Masen Trust owns this brownstone, but you don't, even though _you_ own the trust?"

"Yes," I say, letting out a long breath. I gently ease her off my lap before I charge headlong into my meandering excuses. "I know. I should have told you. But when we first met, how could I? I had no idea you were the tenant here before you moved in—I swear it. And for me to introduce myself as the 'landlord' when I didn't do any of the maintenance or collect the rent…I couldn't think of way to explain it that didn't sound like I was being pretentious. 'Hi, I'm Edward. I inherited all this money I never worked for, so I bought this building. You're my tenant even though I have nothing to do with actually managing the property.' It just…I couldn't think of a way to bring it up. I just couldn't," I confess. "You already didn't like me when you first met me. Telling you I owned the trust company listed on your lease wouldn't have made look any better. At least it didn't seem that way to me."

"Edward," she begins, folding her arms across her chest and tapping her fingers against both her biceps before squinting at me. "You mean to tell me that _all_ this time, you've been charging your own _girlfriend_ rent?"

"Is that a rhetorical question, because technically I don't exactly mean to tell you anything…if, uh, you really want to get down to brass tacks?" I stammer. When she just stares at me, I mutter a feeble 'don't hurt me' that comes out rather like a moan-like plea, due to the fact that I really am begging.

"There's only one way to settle this, I'm afraid," she tells me, her face looking grave. My stomach starts to churn and roil. I must have really done it this time. She's probably going to take me to task for being a half-truth-telling jerk who can't be trusted.

She's now straddling my lap as I sit on the couch, her back facing the open expanse of the living room floor. All of a sudden, she leans away from me, pitching backward and about to fall on her head. I quickly lean in to grab her, but she wriggles sideways before rolling onto the floor, with me tumbling on top of her. I mutter an '_oomph_' sound when I force myself take the brunt of the fall on my forearms and knees to keep from flattening Bella.

"Let the smack down begin," she growls loudly into my ear before clamping her legs and arms around my torso like a bear trap.

_Not the wrestling again. She really does know how to punish me._

She knows how rubbing up all over me while fully clothed, all under the ruse of 'horsing around,' just makes me insane. She used to do this more often before we started having sex. In fact, I thought she'd forgotten about it. Apparently, not.

"Brown Eyes…please…not the thighs!" I plead as we roll over and switch places, with me underneath. She's spinning herself around, very much like an alligator, and hell if she isn't spry and stealthy when she's not vertical.

Before I know it, she has me in a scissor hold, her ankles cinched tightly together, with her thighs squeezing my neck. My arms are crisscrossed in front of me where she grips them tightly by the wrists.

"Are you gonna keep anything from me ever again, Edward?" she demands, her voice heaving from all the flipping and tugging and _shit-that's-making-me-hard _squeezing.

"No, I won't," I wheeze, my windpipe slowly being closed off in the most agonizingly erotic way imaginable.

"Do you promise?" she presses, while literally _pressing_. My trachea is being slowly crushed by the soft…smooth…lightly chocolate-scented curves of her thighs. My eyes close as I get lost in the sensation of her body wrapped around me. She's incredibly hot when she's irritated at me, and so, my brain being ruled by my dick, I get slightly distracted.

_So milky-white, sweet-smelling and beautiful. I want to die here._

"Edward!" she snaps. My mind reels as it tries to recall what it was the got her so annoyed in the first place. "Promise you won't hide things from me. I don't care how minor they seem to you."

_Shit. The brownstone._

"Yes! I promise!" I capitulate eagerly.

"Good boy," she praises. I gasp lightly when I notice that her praise is followed by some very, _very_, erotic undulation of her hips—the result of which causes her crotch to wave 'hello' at me, mere inches from my nose. My dick would wave back, if he could.

My future wife, I have decided, is a she-demon. There are several co-conspirators in this evil plot to take over my very soul, namely: her beautiful body, her intoxicating scent, and my hypnotized dick.

Truth be told, I'm a fool if I believe I can end that list there. The biggest accomplice in all this is my own heart. This woman can have whatever she wants—_do_ whatever she wants—so long as it makes her happy. And it's because her happiness is what keeps my heart beating. Sometimes, it even beats frantically at the thought of her, at the idea of not being everything she'd ever want, and then some. But at the best of times, my heart merely swells at the sight of her smile, her sigh, her laugh. I love Bella Swan, through and through.

Resolving to end my current torture, I slide my arms underneath her and gently roll her off me and onto her back. I reposition myself so that I'm sidled up against her, leaning on my side with my head propped on my elbow. I use my free hand to rub lazy circles on her abdomen with my fingertips.

"It's really not _my_ brownstone, Brown Eyes," I tell her.

"Edward, don't start up again with the 'technically' stuff," she argues, rolling her eyes at me.

"I'm not talking about the trust, or any of that," I counter. She lets out a huff of a laugh, more out of her patience being worn thin than from humor.

"Then what are you talking about, Dr. Cullen?" she asks, looking at me skeptically.

"Brown Eyes," I say, grabbing her hand. "It's not mine…because it's _ours_. I'm saying…this place, all of it, every old brick and groaning pipe and creaky floorboard, belongs to us both. I can't think of it any other way. I can't live here without you, and I really don't want to move out," I confess.

"That's…you amaze me," she stammers, shaking her head. She strokes my cheek with the back of her fingers. "How can I stay mad at you when you say things like that?"

"Well, you were right to get mad, regardless. I probably shouldn't have kept it from you. But considering how I see this place really as _our_ home, not just mine, I guess it just didn't matter to me whose name is on the deed. Before I met you, this was just a house to me. And now…now it's the only place in the world I can think about when I clock out of work, because you're here…and that makes it 'home' to me."

"Edward, _love_," she murmurs, her expression softening. She kisses me sweetly, slowly. When she pulls away, I trace my fingertips over the soft, plump curves of her lips, and I smile. Her face is relaxed, peaceful. I suspect that I've already been forgiven for my indiscretion, but I want to explain more.

"I'm not saying this to appease, honestly," I clarify. "It's just that we have good memories here. I've never had a home like this before—where the memories are only good ones."

"Can we make more?" she asks me, her round eyes wide and childlike. "More happy memories?"

"Absolutely. The more, the better," I whisper before kissing her softly.

"I love you, Edward Cullen," she says.

"I love you, too, Bella Swan. Am I forgiven?"

"Brain says 'hold a grudge'. Heart says 'forgive that smooth talker'," she replies with a chuckle.

I make certain that her laughter turns to little sighs and moans as I slowly kiss her face and neck. I pop open every button of her cute flannel pajamas, and peel off the matching bottoms as well. In fact, I spend as much time as I can slowly making love to each and every little part of her body: kissing, licking, nipping, caressing.

I learned all about the female anatomy in medical school, and I put all that knowledge to practice in my years of dalliances with random women, until I considered myself a self-taught expert in female sexual responsiveness. But truly, there was no worth to this expertise until I became intimate with Brown Eyes. It allowed me to show her with my body what I couldn't articulate in words.

To show my respect for her need for both patience and a delicate immersion into the depth of her sexuality, I used soft touches and light grazes across her skin to mean 'don't be afraid, I only want to make you feel good.' When I did something wrong, I apologized for hurting her and making her cry by kissing her wet eyes, and gently rocked my body into hers, with every slowly-paced movement serving as my way of saying 'I've upset one the girl who means more me to than anyone, and I'm sorry.'

How I view sex with Bella is just one of the many examples of the new existence I have. Everything in my life now is amplified, with a fullness and a dimension to it that gives so many things in my life real substance and value.

The next few weeks pass so quickly that it feels as though I can hardly take the time to stop and relax before time simply rushes by. I clock in as many hours at the hospital as humanly possible—I don't want there to be any issue with me taking a good, long, extended vacation for our honeymoon at the end of June.

Bella's last semester as an undergraduate is winding down, and she seems to always have her nose in a book or is furiously tapping away at her keyboard. Between stacks of papers to write and her final exam, she's a busy bookworm. I'm glad for it, however, due to the long hours at work I've been keeping myself.

When not preoccupied with school, Bella tries to make wedding plans with the help of Alice and Rose, but I quickly notice that every interaction she has with her two best friends usually ends with her becoming frustrated. Yet she soldiers on, reassuring me that she's 'working on it'. I surmise, rather quickly, that typical bridal planning is a nasty, nefarious business, not meant for those of us with a weak temperament. Or a 'Y' chromosome.

Prior to asking her to marry me, I never really had any idea how much detail went into all of this. A few of my male friends from med school have gotten married over the last few years, and every one of them complained in one way or another about how much work it was, usually on the part of the bride, with the groom merely nodding his head and promising to show up on time. As for me, I didn't have a single inkling about weddings, save for having been invited to a few. I'd just show up as a guest, eat, drink, and leave…more often than not, with a bride's maid in tow.

But now that I find myself standing firmly in the shiny patent-leather shoes of a groom, weddings have taken on an entirely new meaning. Bella, while not the most 'girly-girl' woman (as she puts it), still wants at least the basic traditions observed, and I can't say I feel differently. I'd like those things, too. But I don't especially care what color our linens are at the reception. I try being decorous about this when I can be, mindful not to hurt her feelings.

"Edward?" she asks, looking over at me as we eat some pizza for dinner on the couch in my living room. We've spent a good portion of the day rearranging our things between our apartments so that Bella can finally—officially—live with me.

Not only that, but we're eager to convert Bella's bedroom into a guest room so that Renee can stay downstairs when she comes back to Boston. She'll be here for a solid three weeks to help with the wedding, and she shouldn't have to endure sleeping on a couch for that long. More importantly, I'm _positive_ I shouldn't have to endure not having Bella in my bed for that long.

"Hmm? What's on your mind?" I answer, returning her gaze as I lift my beer bottle to my lips and take a long draw.

"Lips," she sighs. "I mean, '_let's_'!" she stammers, shaking her head quickly to clear it. I want to ask her '_what about my lips_?' even though I know what it is. But I just smirk at her and let the matter slide…for now.

"_Let's_ talk about wedding plans, if that's okay?" she says, finally getting the words out.

"Of course," I reply, smiling outwardly, but inwardly hoping she doesn't begin bombarding me with a deluge of questions about my opinion on things that, frankly, I don't have much of an opinion about.

"I don't," she begins. "What I mean is…I can't. Oh, fuck my life!" she groans, covering her hands with her face. I'm a bit taken aback by how anxious and flustered she is.

"Brown Eyes, what is it?" I ask, concerned that maybe it's more than just the wedding planning she's feeling stressed about, but the wedding itself.

"Edward…all this 'stuff.' There's too much 'stuff'," she replies, the panic in her voice very clear. "We need a venue, and a caterer, and a florist, and a photographer, and a bartender, and a wait staff. And then we have to pick out the china and the centerpieces…forget a thesis, this is the most intricate project I've ever tried to do," she laments, her frustration causing deep creases to form on her forehead.

"Then don't do it," I say simply.

"I can't just not do it," she replies with a frown. "It doesn't work like that."

"Who says?" I ask, smiling at her. "We could elope—go to Vegas or even Mexico. It certainly doesn't matter to me. I just want to marry you."

"I just want to marry you, too. But…we shouldn't elope. I know it's 'our day' and all that, but I want my mom there, and my nona. I want Carlisle and Esme and Patrick to be part of an important day for you."

"Well, yes. I want those people there, too. But I'm pretty sure they'll come because of us, not because of the caterer or the centerpieces."

Bella looks at me with a small smile and sighs heavily.

"You're right. I just feel like nothing is going right. I can't even find the right spot for the reception. Everywhere I've looked was either booked already, or too small, or too far away…I feel like Goldilocks. I can't find anyplace that's 'just right.'"

"You're no Goldilocks," I scoff. "She's high-maintenance. You're simply being discriminating. There's a difference," I clarify before gratefully accepting Bella's uneaten pizza crust and taking a bite.

"Yeah, well, I better find the 'just right' porridge and chair and bed soon, or there will be no fairytale wedding," she gripes, cradling her chin in palm.

"Hey, now. We could get married at city hall and that would be 'just right'. Better than 'just right'. Perfect," I tell her.

"Thank you, _love_.Such a Prince Charming," she smiles as she runs her foot up and down my calf.

"Nah. I'm the big bad wolf, remember? I huffed and puffed and blew all your clothes off," I tease, grabbing her foot and running my finger tips over the top of it.

"Hmm," she hums, letting her head roll back as I gently massage her foot. She closes her eyes and a wide smile emerges on her face. "So devious of you to demolish my brick house of willpower and prudent decision-making."

"_She's a brick…house_," I sing, winking at Brown Eyes when looks at me at lets out an adorably snortish laugh.

"First fairy tales and now the Commodores? You're ruining my pity party, making me smile and laugh like this. I was ready to really feel sorry for myself and everything. Pity party pooper," she accuses with a wrinkle of her nose.

"You know, it might be a good idea to call my dad and Esme. I'm sure they'd have some suggestions," I offer, feeling like it's time for me to get someone to help us out. Clearly, I'm completely out of my depth here, and it's obvious that Bella is, too.

She nods and whispers a soft 'thank you' before kissing me.

"Besides, Carlisle's my best man; it's his job to help out. Back in the old days, he'd come with me to kidnap you in the dead of night and drag you back to my village."

"All I'm gonna say is thank God the old days are…_old_," she replies, pulling her foot out of massaging hands.

"What, you wouldn't enjoy being stolen away to become my lucky bride and bear me many, many sons?" I ask, feigning indignation.

"I'm about to bear you upside the head, Cullen. Stop being a Neanderthal," she warns before kicking me in the shin with the same foot I was just caressing a second ago.

"See, there's the feisty little spitfire I love. I'd marry her here or there, I would marry her anywhere," I tell her, hoping Dr. Seuss understands women better than I do.

"You would quote a book about eggs," she retorts, rolling those pretty eyes at me.

She holds out her hand and waits for me to hand her my BlackBerry so that she can call Carlisle. Bella grins proudly when she sees my phone. It's a habit of hers now.

"I _love_ that phone," she confesses with glee.

"I know you do. I'm amazed it still delights you so much."

"What you did with that thing…melted me completely," she murmurs, a dreamy look in her eyes.

"You've mentioned this before—repeatedly," I tell her with a smug look on my face.

"Because it's true. I didn't know a phone could be so…wonderful," she gushes.

"You're talking about the phone sex, right?"

"Edward! You know what I'm talking about," she fusses, smacking my shoulder.

"No, I don't," I lie—very bold-facedly.

"Stop teasing."

"Oh," I exclaim, pretending that something's just dawned on me. "You mean that time I sat you on my lap and deleted every female acquaintance in my contacts? I seem to vaguely remember doing that."

"Only vaguely, huh?"

"Yes, but…now that I think about it, I believe you referred to it as the _Great Hoochie Purge of 2010_. I have to say, you took a little too much joy in watching."

"That I did, I won't lie. Watching all those names shrivel up and turn into blackened ash—it was like roasting marshmallows. Roasted Hoochmallows."

"My days as '_that guy_' are well and truly over," I say, growing serious. "My wild oats are good and sown."

"You've sown enough to feed an entire third world country. The Quaker oatmeal dude's got nothing on you," she teases. I frown and mope at her pointedly, attempting to guilt her out of ribbing me.

"I know, I know. You're not thrilled with all that oatmeal," I grouse.

"I wish I could be more _mealy-mouthed_ about it…but I can't resist," she winks.

"I know you can't resist me," I puff, trying to soothe my bruised bravado. "It's what got you into this mess with me in the first place. Now call Carlisle so we can figure out how to get you saddled with me for the rest of your life," I urge before stealing a kiss from her lips.

"Such a burden, being saddled with a handsome, smart, charming and thoughtful doctor who spoils me. I wouldn't wish this on anybody. Especially not your hoochies," she deadpans with a heavy sigh.

"You, my darling fiancée, are the veritable queen of back-handed compliments. Not sure whether you _flatter_ or just _flatten_ my ego."

"Give me that phone already, Dr. Touchy," she snaps playfully. I hold my cell up over my head, so she lunges over my lap, her backside wiggling deliciously on top of my thighs.

"That's Touchy-Feely to you, Brown Eyes," I say, laughing as I grope her ass with my free hand. Her derriere creates a significant distraction, and I fail to stop her when she takes my phone from me and holds it up to her ear. "God, I love your ass," I groan.

"I love my ass, too. In fact, I'm marrying him," she replies, shaking her head at me and laughing.

"Woman, you love taunting me, don't you? With your barbs and your beauty," I say, letting my hand roam up the back of her shirt, where it inches up and down her lovely spine.

"Edward, it's ringing," she scolds. She quickly turns onto her back, which is perfect, really, because it allows my hand to slide perfectly around her breast.

"Why thank you, Brown Eyes. That's much better," I tease, rubbing my thumb back and forth against her nipple. Her eyes go round and her cheeks blaze beautifully when I hear Carlisle answer her call. Regardless, I can't bring myself to stop feeling her up.

"Hi…uh…Carlisle? Yes, hi. It's, um, Bella? Swan?" she sputters, reacting as if Carlisle had walked into the room, or at least, could read our minds. She fishes my hand out of her shirt, and glares at me while speaking to my dad.

After a good forty-five minutes of phone swapping between Bella and me on our end, and Carlisle and Esme on their end, we decide on a plan for the wedding. It's not just an easier way to get all the details taken care of, but will also include everyone who's important to us. We end the conversation with Bella looking very happy and enthusiastic, while I breathe a silent sigh of relief. She's got a lot less to worry herself about now, and that is all that matters to me.

**DUN DUN DUN!**

**There you have it. Almost time for gettin' hitched. I've already started part two, and it should be ready in a few days. Thank you for reading!**

**I'm judging a one-shot contest hosted by the RobNipulations blog called **_**You Fic It, We Nip It**_**. You know the blog—we photoshop Rob's pretty mug onto funny/sexy pictures and write snappy captions for them. For more info on the contest, go to:**

**http : / www . robnipulations . wordpress**** . com**

**Until next time! ::MWAH::**

**p.s. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SPARKLE BOY!**


	29. Chapter 29

**THIS IS IT! FINALLY! Sorry I took so long. I'd offer my truckload of excuses, but…just read the darn thing.**

**Thank you to Nina, my beta-meister-meister-beta. Love and hugs to my friends Kerry, Reba, Marzy, Ser, Cass, Bonnie, and everyone else who has been so sweet about how much they enjoy TNGUS. HUGE THANKS to IHeartPairee and Adèle, aka Alterite, for the French translations. Merci beaucoup because my French is merde.**

**I recommend going back and re-reading the story so that some of the scenes in this final chapter make more sense. A lot of things come full circle and are re-visited. You might not catch them since it's been like an eon since I've updated. :oP**

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**For the last freaking time, I do not own Twilight. I'm just unoriginal.**

******TNGUSPOV**

As the month of May draws to a close, so does Bella's undergraduate education. She turns in the last of her papers and sits for her exams, feeling confident that she did as well as she always does. When Renée arrives for her extended visit, the only major event on the horizon before the wedding is Bella's commencement. It's a significant day in her life and I'm really proud of her. Carlisle, Esme, and Patrick drive down from Hanover to attend, and we celebrate afterward by going out to dinner at a restaurant of Bella's choosing.

If this is what family gatherings are like, I must admit that I've been missing out on something rather gratifying. Getting together for Easter and meeting people close to my new family was a happy occasion for me, but Bella's graduation is more significant. The obvious pride in Carlisle's eyes as he hugs her and Esme's friendly pat on Renée's shoulder as she cries happy maternal tears bear out how close we've all become, even in this relatively short span of time. Carlisle and Esme treat Bella with a kindness and familiarity that truly makes me happy. To say that I'm glad I decided to seek out Carlisle and contact him is a really an understatement.

Even Patrick's heartfelt blessing during grace before Bella's graduation dinner reveals how well he's gotten to know her as a person—more than a mere casual acquaintance would:

'_And God is able to make all grace __abound toward you; that ye, always __having all sufficiency in all things, __may abound to every good work…'_

It was obvious from the start that my grandfather took an instant liking to Bella. But their conversations over Sunday dinners sparked a truly convivial friendship, especially since they have a common interest in working in public service: Bella through social work, and Patrick through ministry.

Looking back and thinking about how I used to see myself…it sounds truly absurd, but I'm amazed at how little I expected of myself and out of life in general. I didn't especially feel as if I had any purpose outside my career. When not working at the hospital, I went from one trendy bar or nightclub to the next, wandering aimlessly through a social life that was busy, but also bereft—crowded with a whole lot of nothing, really.

The three weeks after Bella's graduation is a rush of activity. Bella, Renée, and Esme form an organized, crack-team of 'wedding militia', for lack of a better way to describe it. No man should question these women if he knows what's good for him, so I stand aside and dutifully comply with orders to have my tux fitted, pick out my ring, and answer honestly when asked for my opinion.

I learn a lesson about giving my opinion, and I learn it the hard way. Questions such as 'do you want a chocolate Sachertorte cake or a red velvet cupcake tier?' are deceptively complex. If, in the future, I ever happen upon another fellow who is a impending groom, I will strongly advise him to look up terms like 'Sachertorte' and 'cupcake tier' on Google before answering this question. The reason is this: answering honestly that you haven't the slightest idea what a 'Sachertorte' or a 'cupcake tier' even is will be deemed an insufficient answer—at least judging by Bella's frustrated sigh. It didn't take me long to gather that an honest, yet _informed_ answer is what's expected.

Managing to survive the nuptial triumvirate that is my fiancée, my stepmom, and my future mother-in-law becomes less difficult as time goes on. Brown Eyes is busy, but it's obvious she's happy to spend time with her mom and Esme. Their help is a big relief for her, and it appears to be some sort of female bonding ritual for the three of them. I come home on several occasions to them giggling and speaking in hushed, conspiratorial voices. Sometimes Bella is laughing and whispering with them, other times she is blushing as red as a beet. I don't dare ask. Something in my masculine psyche and easily-battered ego tells me that I just don't want to know.

Brown Eyes and I settle in for bed the night before the wedding rehearsal and the dinner afterward. Curling up next to me, Bella wraps her arms around my torso and hums contently into my chest.

"In forty-eight hours, I'll be Mrs. Smoosher," she says with a laugh.

"That you will be. Any last requests?" I quip.

"Yes, I want my sanity back. And my natural inclination toward cynicism. All this romance is killing my edgier, snarkier side."

"I miss my ignorance about cake. I used to just think of it as, well, cake. Now there are fondants and butter creams and elaborate structures made of cupcakes."

"Don't mock the pastry that symbolizes the prosperity and fecundity of our union, Edward," she tries to say with a straight face, but can't. She quickly dissolves into giggles.

"How thoughtless of me. Here I am thinking it's just a cake. Wait…did you say '_fecundity_'?" I ask, groping a boobkie to emphasize my curiosity.

"Wow, I _almost_ managed to slip that by you," she says with feigned amazement.

"Comments about being fertile are fertile with possibilities. I'm surprised, Brown Eyes. You should expect this from me by now," I reply in a low growl before clucking my tongue at her.

"I've got forty-plus years to learn, Fresh Boy Edward," she tells me, patting my chest lightly and yawning.

"If it takes you that long to learn, I must be a horrible teacher. In fact, I think you need to repeat the course you signed up for back in September. I'm not sure I taught you enough."

"Oh, is that right? Well, I'm not about to disagree with you if there's more we should explore," she whispers, kissing my neck.

"Yes, and also, I've been terribly remiss about something—we never used your school supplies."

"You mean the basket from the horny Easter fuck-bunny? The stuff Alice and Rose gave me for my birthday?"

"The same. It's still sitting on the shelf in my hall closet. What do you say we pack it for the honeymoon?" I ask, praying silently that she says yes.

"I have class while I'm on vacation? You _are_ a taskmaster, Professor," she complains in jest.

"I'm nothing if not thorough, Brown Eyes," I tell her before thoroughly groping her breast before kissing it lightly and drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

The rehearsal the next day goes smoothly, and we enjoy a nice dinner afterward at a private room we rented in a nearby restaurant. People from out of town have all arrived over the last few days, and many of them join us. Bella and I mix and mingle with some of my old friends from college who I still keep in touch with, and she introduces me to Renée's Italian-born mother, who Bella affectionately refers to as 'Nona'.

After dinner, Brown Eyes and I leave with our small group of friends for a co-ed bachelor and bachelorette outing. The two of us decided some weeks ago that neither of us was particularly interested in separate parties. A night of drunken lewdness at a strip club was an activity I partook in plenty of times in my past. In effect, I had my own bachelor party, over and over, for roughly ten years. What most men consider their last-ditch hurrah to freedom, I consider an old habit I'm not exactly going to miss.

"Are you sure you didn't want your own bachelorette party, Brown Eyes?" I ask her as the group of us all piles into a small pub nearby where we just had our rehearsal dinner.

"What, and have you miss seeing me wear _this_?" she asks, pointing to the white cowboy hat that sits atop her head. It's complete with a tiny veil attached to the back and says 'bride' in giant rhinestone letters on the front.

Alice and Rose, along with Jasper and Emmett, form a huddle around us.

"Aw, Bella ballsack, quit being a pill. I bet Edward loves it when you get all cowgirl," Alice snickers, elbowing Rose in the ribs.

"Alice, there's this concept called 'personal boundaries', and clearly, you have none," Bella informs her friend with a roll of her eyes.

"Whatever. You know, Edward," Alice says, turning to me. "Your little missy here wasn't exactly the campus jezebel when you met her. Rose and I were afraid she'd never see a guy naked. So, you know, thanks for getting that out of the way so quickly…and for getting her laid." She giggles as puts her arm around Brown Eyes and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

"Oh my God, is that how you convey best wishes to someone getting married, Alice? What do you say to someone when she tells you she's pregnant? 'Good thing he didn't pull out?'" Bella jokes as she lightly pushes her friend's shoulder.

"Uh oh, is there something you're not telling us?" Rose asks, smirking at Bella and me.

"A mini-ballsack!" Alice chirps. Bella's face goes crimson before she flicks her finger against Alice's ear, who shrieks in response.

"I swear to God, if you call my not-yet-existing future kid that…" she warns, shaking her head.

"Still not shitting rainbows, Bella," Rose informs her. "But as far as husbands go, you could do worse," she adds with playful grin before punching me rather forcefully in the bicep. I try not to grimace and appear a complete wimp.

"Wow! That's some jab you've got there," I say with a half-laugh, rubbing my arm.

"Careful Rose, that's his bum arm. It's the one all his pregnant patients love to mangle when they're in pain," Bella tells her, playfully cautioning her friend and making it seem as if I'm now a cripple from dealing with too many irate women in labor.

"Aw, I was just trying to congratulate you guys," Rose offers, patting my arm and laughing.

"Yes, congratulations are definitely in order," Jasper chimes in. He gives my shoulder a sturdy swat while Emmett shakes my hand.

"Last night as a free man, Edward," Emmett whispers conspiratorially into my ear. "We can wait the girls out, send them home, and then maybe hit a titty bar."

"Thanks for the offer, but no," I reply in a hushed voice. "I'm about to marry the only, uh, 'titties' I want to look at."

"Dude. _Thank God_. I thought I'd offer, you know, cos we're friends and all, but Rose would put my balls in a sling if she ever found out we actually went," he confesses with obvious relief. I shake my head and laugh, thanking him for his half-hearted invitation as well as his courage.

"How about a round of shots?" Jasper asks the group of us. "A toast for the happy couple. What'll it be?"

Alice perks up then and leans over to Jasper, murmuring softly into his ear.

"This is why I love you, baby," is all he says back.

Soon, we're belly-up to the bar as the server places a shot glass full of creamy, pinkish liquor in front of each one of us. No stranger to the long tradition of pub crawling, I recognize the concoction right away and try my best not to smirk.

"To Bella and Edward," Jasper says, holding up his shot glass and looking right at me. "Edward, hope you get to taste this til you're an old fucking geezer, friend." And with that, we all down our drinks. I let out a satisfied 'ahh' a little too loudly, causing Bella to look over at me and eye me curiously.

"That was yummy. What's it called?" she asks.

"A Creamy Pussy," I say with a wink.

"Jasper!" she snaps, playfully poking him in the shoulder with her finger.

"Hey, it was Alice's idea," he says, pointing at his girlfriend and chuckling when both Bella _and_ Alice start slapping his arms.

"Okay, I'm getting the next round," Rose announces.

Once again, more full shot glasses are brought to us, and this time, Rose makes the toast.

"A toast for the soon-to-be Dr. and Mrs. Cullen. I ordered these because _a little bird_ told me that you _both_ enjoy them," she chuckles.

"Oh God, what's this one called?" Bella groans as she puts her hands over her eyes and leans her head toward me so I can whisper in her ear.

_As if I'd let her off the hook that easily._

Instead of answering her question, I take her shot glass and lift it gently to her face, watching as she closes her eyes and parts her lips. Slowly, I pour the drink into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she hums softly to herself, then licks and snaps her pert, pink lips in a way that makes me feel as if I'm about to lose my mind.

"So good," she sighs.

"It's called a Blow Job. And 'good' doesn't even begin to describe them," I softly whisper in her ear, pulling her to me so that she's standing between my legs as I sit on a barstool. My hands slowly creep up the back of her thighs before making themselves comfortable on her shapely little rump.

"Edward, be good," she warns, moving my hands from her ass to the safer territory of her waist. "You promised, remember? No funny stuff tonight. Let's at least try to build some anticipation for the honeymoon."

"Yes, I remember. Doesn't mean I have to like it," I pout, giving her that sad expression that I always do when I want her to feel sorry for me. I'm certainly not above such tactics.

"Okay, the pout is kind of irresistible, but it's not gonna get you your way this time," she informs me as she folds her arms across her chest and sticks her chin in the air.

"My pout has no clout?" I ask.

"Not when the pout's on a lout."

"You _flout_ my pout?"

"Only because you _tout_ your pout!"

"So my pout is a rout?"

"No doubt. But it does suit the snout that looks so put-out," she reassures me before kissing the tip of my nose as she is wont to do from time to time.

"I'm still your suave swine?"

"Just call me Little Bo…_Peeved_," she says with a laugh.

She wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a long, slow kiss. If she's trying to tease me by just giving me a taste but not the full meal, it's working. My hands skim up and down the sides of her slender torso, and when she moans dreamily, I know I need to stop soon or I'll drag her out of here and to the nearest enclosed space. It doesn't even have to be a room: a tent, a cave, even a sturdy cardboard box would do.

"Okay, you two," Rose begins, breaking up our little impromptu make-out session. She looks at us with mild disapproval, and if I'm not mistaken, I feel one of her classic insults coming on. "I don't know what's worse, watching the two of you try to eat each other alive or listening to you guys talk like Dr. Seuss and his Cat in Heat in the Hat."

"Jealous?" Bella snorts, screwing up her face at her friend.

"Yeah, I'm jealous of your cornucopia of corny cacophonous quips," Rose says in what I can only discern as a sort of 'neener, neener' tone of voice.

"Oooh, _burn_. Only took you…uh, ten months to think up a comeback to something I said to you," Brown Eyes replies, being playfully dismissive.

"Do I _have_ to be your bridesmaid?" Rose teases.

"I dunno. Did I _have_ to hear you through a really thin wall for three years whenever you rode your stud ponies?"

"Watch it, cowgirl. You might be wearing the hat, but you're new to this rodeo," Rose teases as she elbows her friend in the ribs.

"Well," Bella replies with a sheepish smile. "I have a really good mount." She hugs me closely and blushes a little, surprised by her own uncharacteristically catty 'girl talk,' in front of me, no less.

"Edward, the cooch whisperer," Alice interjects with a wistful sigh. "So tender and romantic, yet so perverted. My favorite, really."

"Alright, enough," Bella huffs before laughing along with her friends.

As the night rolls on, Emmett and Jasper treat us to several more shots of alcohol with suggestive names. Brown Eyes has given up on the hat and passes it off to Alice, who seems delighted to wear it while straddling Jasper's lap and squealing 'giddy up, horsey!' But I have to draw the line when Bella, more than a little tipsy by this point, approaches me with a drink in her hand and puts it to my lips just as I'd done for her earlier in the evening. She knows what it does to me when she takes control—how turned on I get when she's so forward, so brazen.

"Throw Me Down and Fuck Me," she whispers in my ear.

Blinking slowly and drawing in a deep breath to quell the gargantuan urge I'm feeling to do exactly what she just said, I turn my head and lean into her profile, my nose lightly touching her temple.

"If I begged, would you let me…throw you down and fuck you?" I murmur.

"You don't ever have to beg, _love_, but I certainly wouldn't mind hearing it," she sighs as her palms gently press against my neck.

"I want to get out of here…badly," I confess before unabashedly burying my nose into the lush locks of hair by her neck and kissing her collarbone.

"Mmm, so do I," she confesses.

"I thought you wanted me to be good?" I say with a raised eyebrow before removing her hand from where it strokes my chest and kissing her palm.

"Oh, you _are_ good. You're too good. That's the whole problem," she replies, tilting her head at me. What she says next is so 'classic Brown Eyes' that I start laughing mid-way through. "Well, maybe not the _whole_ problem, because I think part of the problem might have something to do with all those shots with perverted names, because alcohol plus sexual innuendo plus the most beautiful man I've ever seen, I mean, so beautiful, he…" she rambles before her voice trails off from my chuckling.

"He _what_?" I ask, holding her chin with two fingertips and raising my eyebrow at her.

"I don't want to say now. You're laughing," she answers, her lips forming a pout just like the one I made earlier in the evening.

"Oh now, don't _you _pout at _me_. I don't have your willpower, Brown Eyes. Besides, I was only laughing because I love watching you do that," I say, gently pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Do what?" she questions, looking a little perplexed.

"When your face changes like that so quickly," I explain. "I can see them all so vividly, though, all the different expressions—sexy, thoughtful, even a little embarrassed—I want to say it's gorgeous, but it's better, it's…"

"Perfect," she interrupts. "I was going to say 'he's perfect'."

"That's the word," I agree, pulling her to me and kissing those tasty, pouty lips.

It doesn't take long for our friends to notice the late hour and how Bella and I seem increasingly more interested in one another than in celebrating with the group. Alice and Rose insist that the two of us get a good night's sleep while we still can, and soon we're ushered into a cab so we can at least try to get some rest.

Attempting to squire my more-than-slightly inebriated fiancée into bed is more challenging than I anticipate. She's a very entertaining tangle of comedy, awkwardness, lust, and bald candor when she's drunk.

"Brown Eyes, hold still," I laugh, trying to take her shoes off. She's perched on the edge of the bed as I sit across from her in an armchair.

"Trying…but…teet ficklish," she gasps, struggling to stop laughing.

"If there's an award for best drunken Spoonerisms, you'd be a shoe-in. Even with your shoe off," I joke, gently caressing her ankle.

"Thank God I stubbed that toe," she replies nonsensically. Her drunken non sequiturs are almost as good as the Spoonerisms, and I can't help but laugh again.

"Which toe, Cinderella?" I ask, patting the top of her foot.

"The baby one. I hurt my foot, you remember—that night I brought over dinner when I first moved in. You looked at my toe like it was…the most interesting thing you'd ever seen. No one ever looked at my foot like that before. No one ever even looked at the rest of me like that before," she confesses, her round eyes wide.

"I wanted to make sure you didn't really get hurt," I explain, rubbing her calf up and down.

"I know. You've always been that way. You even tried to keep yourself from me. It didn't work. I only loved you for it," she admits, giving me that shy half-smile that has done more to warp my brain than I care to admit.

"You're getting sentimental on me. Something's wrong," I accuse.

"Your fault."

"When is it not?"

"Shoosh up and smoosh me," she insists, sprawling herself out spread-eagle on the bed and holding her arms out to me.

"I can't, we agreed to sleep apart tonight, remember?" I say, easing myself onto the edge of the bed. It's a safe, comfortable distance for my willpower.

"No, I don't remember that. In fact, I remember telling myself to forget to remember. Or remember to forget. I can't recall which," she rambles before breaking into a fit of snorty giggles.

"You're adorable when you're plastered," I inform her while rubbing her midsection with the flat of my palm.

"Edward, poodles are adorable. Babies are adorable. I'm _not_ adorable," she protests with a very stern, very indignant expression. I can only describe it as, well, adorable.

"See what happens when I compliment you? I'm calling a moratorium on compliments," I tell her, snickering as she screws up her face at me.

"You're only using that word to try to get me to say it when my mouth is all twisty and rubbery," she pouts.

"What word?"

"Motorarian. Mortuarium. God, I hate you right now."

"I should go, Brown Eyes."

"No, you shouldn't."

"Yeah, I should."

"You're actually fighting to get _out_ of a woman's bed. Either I stink at being seductive…or maybe I just stink, period. Not sure. Both?"

"Enough of that nonsense, Brown Eyes. I'm fighting my resolve so I can keep a promise to the woman I love so I don't disappoint her. You're my sexy girl, you know that, baby," I reassure her, giving her shoulder a gentle rub.

"Yeah, but is you is or is you ain't _my_ baby?"

"Excellent song choice. Which version is your favorite? Louis Jordan or Dinah Washington?" I ask, hoping to change the subject away from her begging me for something I only want to give her more than anything.

"Tom and Jerry," she replies, giggling to herself.

"Is that the cartoon cat and mouse?"

"You don't know who Tom and Jerry are? How can you marry someone so pedestrian?"

"Well, I don't know how good she is at being pedestrian. She trips a lot."

"Thanks-a-lot, Sir In-My-Pants-a-Lot. Except now," she grouses, wrinkling her nose at me.

"I apologize profusely for simply doing what you asked of me earlier today."

"You ought to be sorry, sir. Here I am, waiting on you to have your wicked way with me," she says, leaning back on the bed with her hand against her forehead, looking like a drunken Scarlett O'Hara.

"Okay, _Petticoat Malfunction_," I tease. I get a kick in the shin for that remark. "Why don't I bring you a giant glass of water and some aspirin? Then we can curl up, will that do?" I offer.

"You're so practical and doctor'ish. Will you marry me?"

"Sure. How does tomorrow sound?"

"Hmm, lemme consult my calendar. What do you know? I'm free all day."

"Perfect. After that, I'll be more than delighted to…visit _Hooterville_," I say with a smirk.

"Pervert."

"Mrs. Pervert." I narrowly escape a pillow thrown at my head for that one before trotting out of the room.

After bringing her some aspirin and a glass of water, we spoon on the bed, my arm curled around her waist. Kissing up and down her neck from the bottom of her earlobe to just above her clavicle is a practice in tortured restraint, but she soon drifts into a deep sleep. I lightly kiss her temple and whisper 'sweet dreams' before quietly slipping out of the bed.

I spend most of the night unable to sleep, my mind racing with all the little details involving the day to come. But I'm also restless from being so used to Bella sleeping next to me. It just feels wrong to not have her here. I used to crave being alone, but now it just makes me unsettled. I need my help-meet, my partner…need to feel her soft, cushiony breast under my palm. Heaving a low groan, I curl my pillow over the top of my head, and urge my brain not to go down that particular path. It will just keep me awake _and_ make me hornier than I already am.

One very fitful night's rest later, I get up and shower, hoping the brisk spray of water will clear my head a little. It works, but only to a degree. I'm beginning to wonder why I'm not nervous and just hoping everything goes smoothly. In fact, as ludicrous as it sounds, _not_ being nervous is making me…nervous. Shouldn't I feel at all reticent? Shouldn't I be uneasy, given that I'm getting married in a few hours?

I lather up some shaving cream, swirling it around my face. As I begin to shave, I realize that so many questions should be swimming through my head. What if I can't make Brown Eyes happy? Will we be able to juggle all of life's little problems—money, our careers, children? Shit, what if we just start truly start annoying each other instead of play-fight? None of these questions perturb me in the slightest. As each one scrolls through my brain, I merely shrug at my reflection in the mirror.

I emerge from the bathroom to see Brown Eyes standing in the bedroom, wearing a fuzzy bathrobe. Although she isn't dressed, her hair is styled delicately in a loose pile on her head and she's wearing a little more make up than she usually does.

She's got that same look on her face as she had the first time I saw her, when I mistakenly thought she was Jessica and not my new neighbor. Staring out the window, her thoughts are far off, somewhere in a daydream, as her finger lightly taps her chin. Her beautiful profile has the identical effect on me now as it did then.

"It's supposed to be bad luck for us to see each other now," I remind her.

"Oh. You know, you're naked again. Only now I'm not so shocked," she laughs a little too anxiously before biting her lip.

"And I'm dressed immediately, see? Just like the last time," I reply with a know-it-all smirk as I pull on a pair of black boxer briefs.

"Edward? Can I ask you something?" she asks, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and wringing her hands. The crease in her forehead makes me concerned. Something is troubling her.

"Of course. What is it, sweet girl? Are you nervous?" I ask, dropping down next to her and taking her hand.

"Well…kinda. Not about the wedding. Just about life in general. What if…what if something bad happens?" she ponders, her face etched with worry.

"You mean what if it doesn't work out? That being married doesn't work out?"

"Not just that. I mean anything bad. I woke up this morning and I thought 'today's gonna be one of the best days of my life, if not the best day ever'. And…I don't even know how to explain it. It probably won't even make sense. But when things are this good, maybe it can't sustain itself. I haven't felt this happy in…I can't even remember. Since I was a kid, maybe?" she asks rhetorically as her voice begins to shake.

"Hey, weren't you the one who wanted to think less and start living in the moment more? Wasn't that your idea? I have to say, as far as ideas go, that one was pretty brilliant. Look where it lead us," I reply, hoping to reassure and soothe her. I put my arm around her shoulders as she leans into me and presses a kiss to my neck.

"I'm being ridiculous. Only _I_ would balk at being happy, like it was a bad thing," she mutters as she grabs my hand to rub my pinky finger.

"I don't think you're being ridiculous—just a little gun-shy. Things between us happened a little fast, even though it feels right. But if it's any consolation, I promise I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. Always. Let's not even consider good things ever coming to an end. Not for us," I tell her, stroking her cheek.

"But I already messed up our good luck by coming to see you before the wedding," she says, chastising herself.

"Hmm," I reply simply, pretending to contemplate a solution to this. I only pretend because I have something that I was meaning to have Alice give her but now seems like the perfect time. "You know, they say putting a penny in your shoe is good luck."

"Is it? Do you have any?" she asks, her slight frown morphing into a smile.

"Let me check my pockets," I say, getting up to rummage through my jeans as they lay across a chair. "Would you look at that? All I have are two pennies—one for each shoe."

As I sit back down next to her, I hold the pennies in my outstretched palm. She inspects them carefully and notices something that I knew she'd figure out quickly.

"One of them is from the year I was born and the other is the year you were born," she notes, lifting her gaze to me and raising her eyebrow.

Now I must admit; I don't especially buy into superstition. I'm a man of science, and I make my own luck. So it's no coincidence that I happened to have two pennies that were both minted on a significant date. I spent an hour at the bank sifting through dozens of pennies to find those. I might not believe in superstition, but I do believe in making my Brown Eyes feel as lucky as I do.

"Yes, can you believe that?" I ask even though I can tell by the skeptical look on her face that she doesn't, really.

"No, but now I can believe why it took you so long just to 'run to the ATM' a few days ago," she says with a laugh.

"I knew I couldn't fool you. How about if I'm simply a fool for you?" I say with a sigh as I watch her drop the pennies into the pocket of her robe before wrapping her arms around my waist in a tight hug.

"Well, you know what they say about fools and rushing in," she teases. "But there's no one I'd rather rush with. And I can't think about life without you in it."

"I thought I made it clear, Brown Eyes. I'm not going anywhere. The omelets are too good."

"You should just marry a chicken. You and Clucky can live happily ever after."

"You have nicer breasts than Clucky."

"I take it back. Even Clucky's out of your league. She deserves better."

"You're downgrading me compared to an imaginary chicken?"

"Feeling deflated?"

"Never. You're the only bird for me, Swan," I quip, kissing the inside of her wrist.

"That's my cock of the walk, walking down the aisle. Who'd have thunk it?" she muses, a playful smirk forming on her face.

"Hey, speaking of birds. About that _furcula_—the wishbone—from Thanksgiving. What did you wish for?" I ask, having been curious about this for quite some time. I gingerly lift her by the waist and settle her on my lap.

"I guess there's no harm in telling you now, since it already came true. I wished that you'd realize that I loved you, and that you'd love me back," she says sweetly, entwining her fingers with mine.

"Alright, now I just feel inadequate," I huff as I feel my brow crease in mild vexation.

"What? How come? Uh oh. How many deviant sexual fantasies did you wish would come true?" she jokes, playfully squinting her eyes at me.

"No, nothing like that. You wished for me to see what you were already giving me. All I wished for was something far more selfish," I explain as I run my thumb down the side of her cheek.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I wished you'd be with me. I wished for you, basically. I just wanted…_you_. All to myself," I confess in a soft voice. Even though I know it's selfish, I can't seem to summon a guilty conscience over it, no matter what. She takes the same thumb that now grazes her jaw line and kisses it lightly.

"You're right. You _are _greedy. In the most amazing, loveable, charming, sweetest way possible. You, Edward, are the Gordon Gecko of my heart."

"Greed is good?"

"This kind of greed? Very good. Take all you want," she offers.

"Hey, what do you say we get this wedding thing taken care of? I have a honeymoon to go on and a wife I need to have my way with."

"You're marrying me just so I'll sleep with you? Wow. All I had to do to get _you_ to sleep with _me_ was ask for a favor. I have to say, I think I like wearing the pants around here," she teases, doing a happy little jig as she stands in place. A wide grin erases all trace of the frown she wore just a short while ago, and it's a far more welcome sight. I wrap my arms around her as she laughs that I'm squeezing the life out of her.

It dawns on me why I'm not nervous. The waters we're about to tread in a few hours might be unknown, but we can navigate them as long as we're together. I'll take the open sea and every storm that may come if it means leaving the deserted island I've lived on for so long. Every fight, quarrel, and emotional hardship we work through etches out a new piece of the map in our relationship. With Bella as my partner, I'd like to see the entire world slowly charted and revealed to me.

A gentle kiss on my lips pulls me out of my daydreaming. Brown Eyes looks at me, and with a wink tells me that her once cold feet are now gloriously toasty. She points to her spa slippers and wiggles her pink-polished toes to emphasize her point. With that, I walk her to the door and kiss her forehead.

"See you soon," I tell her before giving her backside a nice swat.

"Hey! What was that for?" she pouts, rubbing her behind.

"That," I begin before letting my own hand take over where hers was just soothing. "Was to remind you that you might wear the pants, but only _I_ get to peel them off."

"Why, I oughta!" she huffs, her hands balled into small fists as she shakes them at me. All I can do is chuckle. She's less intimidating than Moe the Stooge, and much, much prettier.

"Yes, dear," I say with a playfully dismissive air as I usher her out the door. She leaves, but not before swatting me back and running off with a loud squeaky giggle.

"Don't be late," I call after her.

"Like I have someplace better to go," she shouts back, waving her arm high over her head but not bothering to turn around.

Shaking my head and laughing to myself, I shut my door and finish getting dressed. Just as I'm about to stick the small, white flowered-boutonnière into my lapel, Carlisle knocks softly before entering my room.

"Holding up okay?" he asks as he pats my shoulder.

"So far, so good," I reply with a smile. "Thanks, by the way. For everything."

"Don't mention it. I'm getting the chance to make up for a lot that I missed. I'm the grateful one." I smile modestly and shrug my shoulder, unable to more aptly articulate how I'm feeling, even though hearing him express his gratitude does make me happy.

"Listen, Edward," he begins, clearing his throat. "We probably won't get the chance to talk privately today, so I just wanted to let you know…I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you're my son," he tells me, his lips tight across his face, holding back the emotion behind his words.

I nod and my face forms its own stiff expression before thanking him with a hug. I just can't fathom what words to come up with to reply to something I've wanted to hear my entire life. If I was speechless before, now I'm simply mute. Despite the fact that my father is more attuned to his emotions than I am to mine, he also seems to inherently understand that words between men—even father and son—sometimes just aren't necessary.

"Let's get you to the church. Dad's waiting," he prompts, quickly changing the mood between us with a warm grin.

We exit the small New Hampshire bed and breakfast where Bella and I had spent the night, albeit in separate rooms. The warm sun greets us, and I take in a large breath of fresh air, grateful for the cloudless sky and the pleasant temperature. The fact that it's all happening today, on my twenty-eighth birthday, makes it all the more perfect.

Patrick greets us at a side door entrance of All Saint's church, the very same place he's been preaching for many years, and the place Carlisle was hoping I would be baptized when I was born.

"Now don't the two of you clean up awfully well?" my grandfather jokes as he takes in the sight of Carlisle and me in our tuxedoes. He's wearing his best bright-green-and-gold vestments over a stiff white collar, so I know my father and I aren't the only ones dressed for the occasion.

"Didn't you hear? There's a wedding today," Carlisle jokes.

"Ah, yes. The youngest Cullen man finds a wife," he says, smiling brightly at me. "I believe I'm ready to redeem that favor your father asked of you, Edward."

"Good, because I am too," I agree enthusiastically.

"An eager groom!" Patrick says with a hearty laugh as he slaps me on the back. "We like those around here. Much more preferable to the ones who pass out cold."

"I've got the rings right here," my father informs me, patting his lapel to gesture at his inside jacket pocket.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I realize that I didn't even remember to ask about that. I'm getting anxious: not about marrying Brown Eyes, but about getting all these details pulled off without any major gaffes. It's a big day for her, for our families. I know this is it for me. _She's_ it for me. I don't want or need to ever have anyone else in my life. Today's the day to make it all a reality and I'd really rather not screw it up.

My grandfather notices the slightly panicked look on my face and gives me a reassuring grin before wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

"Son, there's nothing to be nervous about," he says. "Your old granddad is a pro at this wedding business. And I know how much you and Bella care for one another, and that's what really matters, after all is said and done. Just remember: '_the wicked flee when no man pursues, but the righteous are as bold as a lion_'."

He gives me a wink and shakes my hand before reminding Carlisle and me of where to walk and stand, just as we'd rehearsed. Once he proclaims 'let the games begin,' he's out the door.

Carlisle approaches the altar first, and I'm to follow suit a moment or so later. For approximately ninety seconds, I have nothing to do but think. It's not an excessive amount of time in the grand scheme of things, but it's akin to what's described as 'life flashing before your eyes,' only what flashes isn't 'Edward Cullen: from birth until right now'. It's 'Edward Cullen: your life from right this minute until you close your eyes for good', and it's filled with all kinds of incredible, exciting, contented, yet terrifying ideas and images.

I stand, literally and figuratively, in the threshold and about to take myself through it. It's only terrifying because it's unknown, yet the things I envision, I want so badly. There's just no guarantee, only a good faith effort.

In my 'life flash', I see Bella's face display a myriad of stunningly beautiful expressions, all of them full of life and possibilities. From there, my mind drifts to babies in a happy, crowded, and loud home to wake up to and fall asleep in. There are people called 'Grandma' and 'Grandpa'. I see family vacations in the summer sun with me yelling 'be careful' despite the fact that I laugh as I say it.

Suddenly, it feels like the shortest and longest ninety seconds of my life: the shortest because, frankly, I could stand here for eternity if every daydream is as good as this one. But it's also the longest ninety seconds because I need to get myself married and get on with the flash forward. As it is, I took one hell of a circuitous route to finally get to this minute-and-a-half-long wait.

My feet are the most determined they've ever been, and I take nice, healthy strides down the aisle while the light fluttering of a harpist's music drifts around me. The happy faces whose eyes follow me from their seats in the pews create an infectious mood that I'm all too eager to share in. Carlisle and Patrick take turns to shake my hand as I stand between them. The music shifts to the light strains of Vivaldi's _Spring_ from the _Four Seasons_ concerto.

_It's time for that 'flash forward' to start, Cullen._

And there she is, my brown-eyed Bella—the bookworm turned bride. She stands arm-in-arm with Renée as her round eyes skitter owlishly at everyone. Her smile is fragile, from what little I can see of it. The downward tilt of her head toward the floor makes it difficult to make out clearly. I let out a long breath, probably in a subconscious effort to channel some calm in her direction because I can tell that being the center of attention for a large group of people is making her nervous.

She looks like an angel, wearing an ivory-colored ankle-length dress made of delicate, gossamer-like lace. There are tiny flowers in her upswept hair, and her long, graceful neck makes a perfect silhouette as she turns her head sideways to look at the guests who've stood up just for her entrance. As she recognizes the people she walks past, her demeanor becomes more relaxed, and her face glows with truly warm smile that makes her look almost ethereal. As she steps closer and closer toward me, I realize that I've never seen her look more radiant.

With her hand firmly grasping her mother's arm, Bella slowly but steadily approaches me. As I take in the sight of her, my heart rate accelerates, and I contemplate for a moment if I've dreamt this all up: falling in love with and marrying my charming and beautiful co-ed neighbor; meeting my father and discovering a whole new family and community who readily welcomed me.

Renée smiles at us after placing Bella's hand in mine. Mother and daughter exchange kisses, tears, and then Bella's bouquet for a handkerchief monogrammed with the initials '_C.S._' as her 'something old' and a reminder that her father is very much with her, albeit in spirit.

"You made it," I whisper, smiling into her ear.

"I couldn't back out. The dress is paid for," she teases, despite the small tear that escapes down her cheek as she tries to hold back a sort of half-cry, half-giggle with the back of her hand. I brush her tears with the tip of my finger, and softly 'tsk tsk': both at her teasing and her tears.

The wedding service begins, but luckily, my grandfather is the sort of reverend who doesn't mind straying from standard protocol. When we asked him during the rehearsal to let us change the order of the vows, he was happy to indulge us. He even let us get away with planning something scripted that we didn't run by him first.

So, when he asks now if we're ready to say our vows, Bella and I simply look at one another, then barrel headfirst into a fake disagreement. However, we decided to let fate determine who wins this particular tête-à-tête.

"I'll go first," I tell her.

"No, I want to go first," she pretends to argue.

"But it's traditional for the groom to go first."

"Oh, so you're old-fashioned now?" she counters, putting her hand on her hip.

Our guests begin to chuckle, no doubt catching on that we're doing this deliberately.

"Fine, let's settle this the fair way," I offer, holding out my hand as I make it into a fist with my curled fingers facing down. "Ready?"

"Yeah. I'll call it," she agrees, mirroring my posed fist with her own. We're trying not to laugh and ruin it, but both of us let out a snicker as we stare one another down and try to assume our 'game' faces.

The rest of this is unrehearsed. We really do want to leave it up to chance.

"One…two…three…shoot!" Brown Eyes chants as we flex our elbows up and down. Just as she does in all things, she plays the dark horse—opening with scissors—but it pays off because I throw paper…and lose. Just like always, and like in all other things, Bella cuts right through me, like a pair of scissors through thin paper.

"Best of three?" I offer jokingly.

"Don't be a spoil sport, _love_," she says with a laugh before turning her attention back to my grandfather.

Somehow I knew she'd best me. I want to gripe about possible player misconduct in the middle of my own wedding because Brown Eyes just has a way of summoning every irrational urge I could ever have.

I think better of it, however, when I notice that her right hand is shaking as she reaches to clasp mine. I offer a smile of comfort, and it seems to help because she smiles back. But my face breaks into a wide grin when she promises in the name of God to take me as her husband from today forward, no matter the hardship, until the end of our days. By the time I repeat the same promise back to her, her hand isn't shaking anymore, and she's grinning, too.

Bella looks up at me as she places a simple gold band on my ring finger. I see every little facet of the color in her eyes, and the emotion in them. Her eyes, so perceptive and at the same time so revealing, enable me to feel a bond with her I've never shared with another person before. It's the enormous humanity, wit, curiosity, and love displayed in them that I fell in love with, and will love always.

"I promise that today is just the start, just the beginning...let's continue blissfully into this small but perfect piece of our happiness. I love you, Edward. Forever and forever and forever," she professes with a slight tremble to her voice. She slides the ring past my second knuckle and beams at me.

"Brown Eyes, there are three things of which I am absolutely positive. First, you are my soul mate. Second, there's a part of you, and I know how dear it is to me, that is with me always—in my heart, in my blood. And third, I am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you," I declare, looking into her eyes.

The loud sniffles coming from some of our guests adds levity and a touch of humor to our moods and we laugh in spite of the solemnity of the moment. Bella's face turns creamy pink as her eyes crinkle shut briefly and a small chuckle escapes her.

After observing the rest of the traditional rites of an Episcopal wedding service, my grandfather looks at me and Brown Eyes with a broad smile and _finally_ pronounces us man and wife.

"That's your cue to kiss her, son," he tells me as he winks, but he's too late. No sooner are the words out of his mouth that Bella locks her arms around my neck, pulling me down into one hell of a kiss, complete with soft moan into my mouth. I grab her face in my hands and put my mind to the task of returning that kiss with equal fervor. Our guests burst into applause and some very indecorous cat-call whistles.

After walking back up the aisle arm-in-arm, we manage to steal a few moments alone inside a private room at the back of the church before greeting our guests in the receiving line.

"Come here. I want a birthday kiss from my _wife_," I chuckle as I pull her hips toward me and kiss her softly.

"Happy Birthday, my _husband_," she replies, lightly patting the left side of my chest.

"So, we just got married, huh?" I ask, just like I did that night we had our 'role play' and only pretended that we were newlyweds.

"Yep. This time we really are a couple of lovesick fools, you and me," she replies again, only with a far less bashful smile this time. "But this is infinitely better than acting: to know I really love you, and always will."

I can think of no better way to spend my time than to kiss a trail up and down her neck, but Brown Eyes insists we have guests to greet and cordially accept congratulations from. I mumble something about having plenty of opportunities for that at some other time—after we're back from our honeymoon, for instance—but she just glares at me.

I let her pull my arm behind her as she scurries toward the double doors of the church, the sleeve of my tux jacket in one hand, and her bouquet and a generously gathered bunch of her dress's skirt in the other. A gleeful laugh floats out of her as she turns and looks at me, her face glowing and perfect. My _flash forward_ has already started, and I don't want to miss a single second.

"Come on, you're always the fast one," she urges. "Hurry up before God sees you in here and laughs so hard at the idea of you being married that lightning strikes us both down."

"Married for all of five minutes, Brown Eyes. Five minutes," I tell her, shaking my head and pretending to look genuinely offended.

Her response is captured by a very quick and observant photographer, who seizes his chance just as Brown Eyes and I emerge from the church, her arm clutching mine. The result of this photographer's keen eye and quick finger will later grace the mantle of our future home. It's a photo of the two of us, just married and flushed with happiness, looking at one another in profile, with Bella very prominently sticking her tongue out at me.

Just as we'd anticipated, a long line of people begins streaming towards us, their faces eager. They smile and clap when Brown Eyes and I join our parents to greet everyone. It's nice to see people I recognize from work and other acquaintances I've made through the years, but what's even better is to be congratulated and offered well-wishes from those I've only just met through the new extended family of my father's friends and neighbors.

This tiny town in New Hampshire, so small on a map, is filled with people who are significant to me. In one way or another, they all play a part in my family and its history. From the blue-haired grandmothers who knew my father when he was a kid, all the way to the newest infant just baptized by my grandfather, they're all here now. And by wishing me a contented future, they help to reshape my painful, empty past into something more meaningful, into roots that although they were unknown to me, had always existed.

My boss Aro and his wife Heidi make their way toward us and offer their heartfelt words.

"Congratulations, Edward, Bella," Aro says, patting my arm soundly. "Edward, smartest thing you've done since accepting your promotion." I'd be slightly insulted if I didn't agree with him wholeheartedly. Heidi hugs us both after confessing that she never laughed _and_ cried so much at a wedding before.

James saunters over to us and I'm less than thrilled with seeing him here. In fact, I don't even want him here at all. But it was Brown Eyes who invited him—deciding it was insensitive to include all of my co-workers on our guest list—except for James. She also noted that perhaps making a point of showing that we are now officially committed to one another will result in James changing his own ways a little.

He'd given up some time ago on his attempts to coax me into anymore nights of bar crawling. In fact, over the past few months, I'd see him with that leggy redhead more and more. And if my eyes aren't deceiving me, it appears as if she's his guest right now. He's got his arm wrapped tightly around her while she leans her head on his shoulder. Her brow is creased with a deep frown and she's pouting quite noticeably.

"Hey, the happy couple!" James greets us, shaking my hand and giving Bella a very loose hug. James might be brazen, but he isn't stupid. I've given him enough caustic and irate glares in the past to make the message quite clear that his attention toward Brown Eyes ought be so banal and sanitized that I should be able to eat my lunch off his comments and behavior.

"Jamie Bear, my feet hurt!" his leggy redheaded friend huffs.

Bella's eyes meet mine as she mouths the words 'Jamie Bear' with a quizzical, slightly horrified look on her face before we both mask our shock with polite nods and some rapid blinking.

"I did tell you not to wear those shoes, lamb chop," _Jamie Bear_ coos at the redhead before they rub noses and kiss.

"I know, but now my tootsies are all boo-boo'd," she pouts, pointing at her foot and frowning. He taps her chin with his finger and pouts back at her, speaking in a hushed voice about how he'll take care of lamb chop's tootsies as soon as they get home.

I'm not sure how much more I can listen to this. It's not fair or appropriate for a man to feel this nauseated on his wedding day, of all days. The only thing that's keeping me from spontaneously projectile vomiting my last meal is the rich irony of the situation.

James: perennial playboy, bar crawler, womanizer, and player…is _completely_ pussy-whipped by a woman with a voice like Minnie Mouse and the temperament of a five-year-old.

"James," Bella says with a raised eye brow. This breaks up the impromptu canoodling and sweet-nothing murmurings that have overtaken both James' and his friend's sense of decorum and regard for others around them.

"Oh, I guess I should introduce you guys. Edward, Bella, this is my lamb chop. Vicky," James tells us, positively beaming as he squeezes her tightly around the shoulders. "You're my lamb chop, aren't you?" he asks, like he's talking to a puppy.

"Jamie Bear, you're so silly!" she says in a squeaky, high-pitched voice that almost pierces my eardrums.

"It's nice to meet you, Vicky," Bella says politely. I can tell she's desperately trying to disguise a look of abject horror with a completely forced and plastered-on smile.

Jamie Bear and his lamb chop kiss and snuggle their way from our presence after what seems like an eternity. Brown Eyes and I look at each other for a moment, our mouths screwed shut tightly. Bella's lower lip twitches and I'm biting the inside of my cheek to keep my composure. Once our two guests are out of earshot, all bets are off and we begin laughing hysterically.

"Oh my God, please tell me other people don't see that when they look at us, Edward," Bella says, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand after literally weeping with laughter.

"I should hope not. Vicky seems a little…_picky_," I muse, trying to be delicate in my description of James' new girlfriend.

"And _icky_," Bella adds, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Can I call you 'lamb chop'?"

"If you do, you'll be 'Eddie Bear' for the rest of your life," she warns, swatting my hand after I playfully tap her chin.

Our wedding reception is a 'family affair' in every meaning of the phrase. It's held in the backyard of Carlisle and Esme's home. Renée, Esme, and Bella's Nona worked continuously for the past several days to prepare all the food on their own—it was something they insisted on and urged me and Bella to consider a wedding gift from the three of them.

After negotiating the swell of people who applauded our arrival to the reception, Brown Eyes and I enjoy our first dance with music provided by a string quartet.

"Just let me lead," I assure her. "You'll be just fine. I won't let you get tangled up."

"Ha. Remember the last time you said that? Look where you lead me now," she jokes, a bright smile spreading across her face.

"Yes, holy matrimony. Truly awful all this wedded bliss business, isn't it?" I agree with mock sincerity, a smile of my own matching hers.

"Don't ask. I feel stifled already. Actually, it could just be this corset I'm wearing. Alice tied the thing so tight, I can hardly breathe," she says softly, her lips against my ear as I crane my neck to listen.

I swallow with a loud, very uneven gulp at the thought of what that corset must look like. My mind spins with the possibilities. What color is it, I wonder. It must be white or off-white, since her dress is ivory. Are there cups on it, because the material around her cleavage is rather filmy and silky, and the outline of her breasts doesn't look particularly obscured, now that I take a close look? Well, truth be told, I've taken several close looks today, but the idea of Brown Eyes' shapely torso, with her delicate waist cinched and her hips gently flaring, clad in a white, satiny, smooth, cup-less corset with ribbon laces up the back sends me into a veritable stupor.

"Edward? Hello? Husband?" Bella chirps, looking at me with a confused expression as we continue to slowly twirl around the temporary parquet dance floor put down in Carlisle's expansive back lawn. Her use of the word 'husband' wakes me out of my lascivious daydreaming.

"Yes, wife?" I answer, looking entirely too smug.

"Is there something more interesting than your first dance at your own wedding?" she inquires, tilting her head at me and giving me a stern squint of her eye.

"Yes, actually," I purr, craning my neck once more to speak into her ear this time. "I'm very much more interested in seeing your corset."

And with that, I pivot her neck slightly and lazily trail my nose from the back of her ear down to her collarbone. I pay no attention to the 'ooohs' and 'aaahs' of guests as Bella and I dance under the setting sun, our shadows cast by the dim glow of tea lights hanging from the birch and crabapple trees around us. I'd like to think that the sun, the trees, the soft lights, the happy sighs of our guests, and even me, here in my tuxedo—we're all just a backdrop. We're the scenery that showcases the beautiful woman in my arms, who is now my wife.

After what seems like a very long succession of toasts, food and drinks being served, and cake-cutting, Brown Eyes and I steal away to change our clothes and finally say goodbye to our guests before heading straight to Logan Airport to catch our red-eye.

People feel the well-meaning need to dispense all manner of advice to us. Some of it is practical. Heidi Volturi tells us never to go to bed angry at one another. Some of it is questionable in its wisdom: Emmett pulls me aside and says in a low voice that 'when in doubt', I should just 'whip it out', whatever that means.

"Thank you for everything you've done," I tell Renée and Esme as they stand side by side to see us off. They've got their arms around each other, literally propping one another up as they dab their wet eyes, bearing out emotions that are part sentimental, part a few too many cocktails.

"Take care of each other," Renée says to me with one final hug.

"We will. And, um, thanks for helping. Not just with the wedding. But with helping me see things more clearly," I reply, referring to her advice to me when I first met her over Thanksgiving. She simply nods and smiles back at me.

I turn to Brown Eyes and notice that Nona is very animatedly telling her a story. Bella looks part amused and part mortified, holding a laugh back by putting a hand over her mouth.

"Listen to me, Bella mia, I am an old woman, but I know things. Food. Food makes your man happy," she proclaims, gesticulating for emphasis. "Your Nono, when I met him in Italy, he was Americano in the Army. Always follow me because he says 'street not safe for pretty girl.' I say 'go away', but I give up, you know?

"We married and we happy. But Marco…oh, he gets so jealous! All the time jealous if another boy looks at me. Makes face, like this," she says, glowering mischievously. "My friend Giana, she was a little older, knows more. Tells me 'when he makes that face, cook his favorite meal. He won't make that face no more'. So, I make your Nono eggplant parmagiana that night. Nine months later, your mama was born!"

Brown Eyes makes an honest attempt not to look mortified over having been told how her own mother came to be when she didn't exactly ask for this particular piece of information. Esme stifles a chuckle while Renée simply shakes her head, lamenting that her mother has been telling that story at every wedding she's gone to since her daughter's birth.

Bella's eyes go wide as she whispers loudly to me, the back of her hand covering her mouth.

"We better go before my mom starts telling me stories about how my dad loved fish fry. I just don't need to know!" she complains adamantly.

"What, no eggplant for me, Brown Eyes?" I tease jutting my lower lip out at her.

"No eggplant. No egg implanted, either. Not yet, anyway," she replies, kissing my palm as we slip away out the door to our waiting cab.

We slide into the backseat, and I snake my arm around her the small of her back and rest my hand on her lower abdomen, the words 'not yet, anyway,' echoing in my ears.

Twelve jetlagged hours later, we finally arrive at our hotel. It's mid-day, local time, and after a fairly painless check-in, we collapse onto the king-sized bed that's housed in the middle of the stately bedroom of our suite.

Brown Eyes and I have just enough energy to undress before falling asleep, and it's evening when I rouse. Feeling her soft body shift under me, I drift back into consciousness with a lazy smile as my fingers absentmindedly swirl unseen patterns around her bare breast.

"Good morning, or good evening, as the case may be," I drawl into the top of her head before gently placing a kiss there.

"Hi," she replies, lifting her head and smiling at me. Her hair is utter chaos, partially obscuring her face. I smile back as I sweep several locks out of her eyes and let my palm graze across her cheek.

"You're a married woman now, but your husband's neglected something very important," I say, feigning regret.

"Has he? Only just married and already he's messing up. What's he done this time?" she asks with a light laugh.

"He hasn't insisted on consummating your marriage. It's not official until you do, you know," I explain.

"Really? You mean, I can still back out of this? Kind of like 'buyer's remorse'? 'Bella's remorse'?" she quips, kissing my chest, directly over my heart.

"Well, technically, yes. But I doubt he has any intention of not following through. He takes this sort of obligation quite seriously, you know," I inform her. I begin kissing her by starting at her temple, then down her long, graceful neck—just to make sure my point gets across, of course. I feel her shudder slightly when the stubble of my beard causes her skin to prickle.

"Edward?" she whispers, pulling my face toward hers. I reluctantly disengage my lips from her smooth shoulder and look up at her face. "I think we should wait just a little longer, if that's okay. This just doesn't…feel right."

I'm mildly surprised by this. We just promised to commit ourselves to each other and to our relationship for the rest of our lives. If ever there was a right time to have sex, one would think this would be the ideal circumstances. Not to mention, _she_ adamantly wanted sex from _me _the very first time.

"But…we're married. This is about as opposite a one-night stand as you can get. This is sanctity, Brown Eyes. Even _God_ wants us to do it," I argue tenaciously, unable to help feeling a little frustrated, in more ways than one.

"I just want it to be special, that's all. I did have something in mind; I just need a little time to get ready. There's a bar downstairs. Go get a drink, and be back in half an hour," she asks. She looks at me expectantly, hoping I won't protest or make more out of this than I should. So, of course, I give in with a rather unenthusiastic 'okay'. This must be important to her if she's put some thought and planning into it. Letting out a long sigh, I lift myself out of bed and extract a clean change of clothes from our luggage.

"Oh, don't look at me like I took your only toy away," she scolds, wrapping the sheets around her as she walks toward the bathroom. I grumble my annoyance into my shirt as I pull it over my head.

"You did take my only toy away. It's under those bed sheets," I complain after her as I throw on a pair of jeans and slip my shoes on. She doesn't respond and merely shuts the bathroom door behind her with a small laugh. Frankly, I fail to see the humor in this, but I oblige her. Pushing my keycard into my back pocket, I slump my shoulders in defeat and head out the door.

I head down to the hotel bar, very aptly named _The Waterloo._ I chuckle to myself as I take a seat, thinking that this certainly feels like my libido's equivalent of Napoleon's disastrous military failure.

The place is completely desolate, being that it's a Monday evening. I'm the only poor bastard in here, and not even a minute passes before the bartender approaches me. He's a fairly affable looking fellow, wearing the customary crisp white shirt, dark vest, and black bow tie of the usual wait staff at an upscale hotel.

"Puis-je vous proposer quelque chose à boire, monsieur?" he asks with a smile, offering me a drink.

"Oui, s'il vous plaît. J'aimerais une bière—une _Kasteel Bruin_. Tout compte fait, mettez-moi une _Kasteel Bruin_ et un doigt de _jenever_," I reply. I opt for a shot of very strong Dutch gin along with a Belgian beer for a chaser.

"Bien sûr, monsieur. J'en déduis que vous avez eu une dure journée si vous avez besoin de ce que nous autres Belges appellons un 'kopstoot'," he replies with a laugh. He notices my obvious sour mood and how I must be having a rough day if I'm ordering what the natives refer to as a 'headbutt'.

"Oui, j'aimerais plutôt être en haut avec ma femme qu'ici, pour être honnête," I agree, explaining that I'd much rather be with my wife at the moment.

"Pardonnez-moi, mais si je peux être honnête, je serais plutôt à la maison avec ma femme, moi aussi," he tells me with a smile. I laugh in response to his earnest admission that _he'd_ rather be with _his_ wife, too. He sets down my beer chaser and pours my gin into a miniature cordial glass.

"Merci. A votre Santé!" I say, thanking him and offering a toast as I make quick work of downing my shot. I grimace and squeeze my eyes shut at the very strong burn as the gin practically ignites my throat and shoots out my nostrils. I take a long pull of my beer, which does an admirable job of extinguishing the inferno caused by the intense spice of the gin's juniper berries and very potent alcohol.

"Vous sentez comme ça vous donne un coup à la tête, n'est-ce pas?" the bartender jokes, inquiring if I do indeed feel as if I've been hit in the head.

"Oui, plutôt! Pour votre peine," I concur before offering him several Euros that I leave next to my empty shot glass.

"Merci, monsieur," he replies.

The bartender turns his attention to retrieving his tip and my used cordial glass, leaving me to contemplate how much more time I should kill before heading back upstairs. The shot of gin and subsequent chugs of dark ale definitely loosen my mood, and I feel the edge of my annoyance become slightly dulled.

"Puis-je vous être utile, madame?" I vaguely hear the bartender ask a new customer at the far side of the bar. I'm too busy rolling a fifty-cent Euro coin around my knuckles, watching as it flips, over and over, between my fingers.

Suddenly, I'm very aware of the scent of perfume, and not just any perfume. It's _Tartine et Chocolat_. I'd know it anywhere because I bought a bottle of it myself as a Christmas gift for a very special someone—a 'someone' who gives me a raging erection when she smells of chocolate.

"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?" I hear a woman coo over my shoulder. The voice is so overly and deliberately sultry, it's almost comical. She sounds like she's trying her damndest to impersonate the type of lady who trawls bars to meet men. Combine that with the most clichéd pick-up line in _any_ language—let alone French—and I can't stifle a loud, yet amused, laugh.

'_Will you sleep with me?' Really, Brown Eyes? Unless you're Patti LaBelle, that come-on should never be uttered._

"Votre mari sait-il que vous êtes assise dans un bar, à essayer de flirter avec un autre homme?" I ask, demanding to know if her husband is aware of what she's up to. Obviously, he's only beginning to catch on now, because I never would have guessed _this_ is what she planned. She doesn't answer, and just looks down at her drink before giving me a sheepish shrug of her shoulders—which, incidentally, are completely bare, save for the thin little straps holding up the sleeveless, very low-cut blouse she's wearing.

"Je dis 'essayer' parce que c'est probablement l'approche la rebattue que l'on m'ait jamais dite," I inform her. It really is true that hers is probably the corniest line anyone has ever used on me.

"Je...uh, je n'ai rien trouvé de mieux à dire," she stammers, blushingly admitting that she couldn't think of anything better to say. I raise my eyebrow at her. It's not necessary for me to acknowledge how obvious a confession _that_ is. "Peut-être pourriez-vous m'apprendre quelque chose de mieux?" she asks, once again requesting that I help teach her something.

"En français ou en anglais?" I ask back, despite the fact that I know she would rather hear me speak in French.

"En français s'il vous plaît. J'aime votre langue, surtout quand elle est française," she says in a low, shaky voice. Asking me to speak French because she loves my 'French tongue' is enough to make her lose her already-tenuous grip on the barfly façade she was trying on just a minute ago.

"Ma langue a beaucoup d'usages, Yeux Bruns. Mes mains, aussi," I reply, unabashedly bragging that my tongue has many uses, as do my hands.

I lean into her so that I can whisper in her ear.

"Pourquoi êtes-vous ici, habillée de cette façon?" I want to know, wondering why she'd show up dressed so provocatively. I emphasize my question by running the tip of my finger along the deep cleavage of her blouse.

I quickly scan our general vicinity to make sure no one is around, and notice that not a soul is within hearing or staring distance. Even the bartender had the sense to give me a short nod and make himself conveniently invisible a minute ago.

I pull her barstool over as close to me as possible. She presses herself against me as my arms form a cocoon around her. My hand slithers up her creamy-soft thigh. I expect my fingers to reach some kind of lacy fabric. Instead, all they're met with is bare, moist flesh, supple and velvety. And so very naked. Under a miniscule, tight skirt.

_Fuck._

"Putain! Vous ne portez même pas de culotte," I snarl in her ear, the thought of her not wearing any panties with a skirt that could double as a head band sending me into a blistering haze of possessiveness.

"No, I'm not wearing any panties. I wasn't planning on needing any," she whispers provocatively.

"What if someone saw you like this? Someone other than me?" I demand. My voice is low and my lips are pursed in a tight, straight line.

"I just wanted to, um, dress the part. You know, look sexy…look like a woman you would want to pick up in a bar," she explains.

"You're better than that," I say, being serious for a moment.

"I know…but I've never tried this. I never felt like it was something I'd be comfortable doing, or even enjoy. But I want to now. Only with you," she explains sheepishly.

"I can't pretend I don't love you and don't want to keep you to myself. I can't pretend that, Brown Eyes."

"Just this once? Will you…pretend with me, please?"

I see the hopeful look on her face, and like always, I can't say 'no'. I couldn't say it on her birthday, I couldn't say it the first time I slept with her, and I can't say it now. Not when she looks at me like this and sees the man I used to be, along with the man I am now, but loves them both just the same.

"So, beautiful, what's your name?" I murmur, flashing my trademark smirk at her.

She's thoughtful for a moment. Clearly, this part of the role play wasn't something she'd considered ahead of time.

"Um...Tanya," she replies hesitantly.

"Tanya?" I repeat, tilting my head and looking slightly askance at her. "Huh. You don't look very much like a 'Tanya'. In fact, I don't think it suits you at all."

"No? What would you call me, then?" she asks coyly, her teeth sinking into that luscious bottom lip of hers.

"Hmm. I think you look more like a Candy. Sweet. Delicious. I'd very much like to taste you, Candy. Would you like that?" I purr, placing my hand on her knee and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Yes," she moans as she leans into me. "Taste me."

My control, once so part-and-parcel of my subtle game of seducing women, dissolves like steamy beads of water on a glowing-red piece of hot metal. She turns me into nothing but one gigantic urge. I want to claim and covet, to indulge and surfeit. I am so unrelenting and predatory in my quest to have her that no one's to say whether I consume or am being consumed.

"Upstairs. Now." I say curtly.

"But we were..." she tries to argue before I interrupt.

"No more games. Upstairs. The room. 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the doorknob. Deadbolt locked," I snap hastily. I can't even speak in full sentences because I'm so focused on getting the hell out of a public place. I'm also too busy dragging her by the elbow toward the elevator, while keeping my eyes peeled for anyone leering at her.

Exactly six agonizing minutes later finds me fumbling with the damned cardkey so we can get inside the room. I'd have a much easier time getting that green light above the knob to blink at me if my wife wasn't nibbling on my ear and running her hand up and down the space below my navel. She stops just shy of my ridiculous hard-on, over and over again.

"Brown Eyes," I groan. "Please."

"Please what?" she whispers, running her high heel-clad foot up and down the back of my calf.

"Just please. Need to get inside," I mumble.

"Inside…_where_?" she coos suggestively.

"Fucking hell. God damned locked door," I mutter, just before I hear the glorious sounds of '_beep-beep-beep_' and the sliding of metal being pulled away, unlocking the most secure door in the history of keyless entry security.

I think of all the times I'd watch her reactions to the way I touched her, how I'd find it so sexy and perfect to see her get lost in her arousal. I could never get enough of that look on her face when she abandoned control and just let her body take over.

But not now.

Tonight, on the first night we make love as a married couple, I discover something even more erotic, more captivating, and more completely fucking astounding.

Brown Eyes in complete control…over _me_.

The minute the door is shut behind us, she pushes me against it and kisses me hard, my face pressed tightly to her palms. I merely moan into her, my head spinning.

"What do you have here, handsome? Hmm? Something good for me?" she growls, cupping my crotch with her hand.

"Yes, just for you," I murmur into her hair, my fingertips feeling the soft slope of her ass as I bring her body flush against mine, so she can feel exactly how that _something good_ is about ready to burst the seams of my jeans.

"You know, you said _I_ look tasty. But I think _you're_ the one who's delicious," she tells me before slowly—so tortuously slowly—passing her wet tongue over her top lip.

"Please," I moan again. I feel like a horny seventeen-year-old as I piston my hips so that my dick rubs against her hand.

"What do you want, Edward? Tell me, and you can have it. Whatever makes you feel good," she offers, pouting at me as she looks up at my face.

_I've said the same words to her, more times than I can count. But Christ if isn't infinitely hotter hearing her ask me instead._

"I want you to touch me," I sputter, my brain unable to be more specific. Truth be told, I'll take anything: a handjob, a dry hump, _anything_.

"Touch you where, _love_?" she teases, her hand continuing its agonizingly-insufficient dance against me.

"Put," I gasp. "Put your mouth on me. Please, Brown Eyes."

I hear her chuckle mischievously as she looks down to inspect where her hand has been taunting my dick with barely-adequate friction. I can hardly watch as she kneels in front of me and pulls out my dick. My entire abdomen is wire-tight as she strokes me up and down with her hand.

"Put my mouth…_here_?" she asks.

"Yes," I whisper shakily.

"Like this?" she taunts, licking my frenulum with the tip of her tongue. She did this the very first time, from inexperience then…but now…now it's to hurl me headlong into the most exquisite oblivion I've ever experienced.

"Don't torment me, Brown Eyes," I plead.

"Say what you need, and I'll do it," she smirks.

"I need you…to suck me. Please," I tell her, weaving my hand into her hair and closing my eyes.

"Look at me, or I won't," she warns. My eyes snap open immediately. "I'll give you what you need. But I want you to watch me and talk to me…the whole time, okay?"

Nodding my head frantically, I can't hold back the half-sigh-half-sob that chokes free from my chest when her lips wrap around me.

"You're so beautiful, my brown-eyed Bella," I tell her. "I'm the luckiest bastard on Earth…still can't believe…I have you, all to myself. You're gorgeous…especially on your knees like this."

I keep my eyes focused on hers, so big and perfect, as her sweet mouth moves up and down my shaft. I feel her tongue swirl languidly around my skin as her moans reverberate against me and it's all I can do to keep myself standing.

"Oh fucking shit, oh my fucking holy hell, oh fuck yes, that is fucking amazing," I groan out, my mind a fog as base obscenities are the only words I can manage to say.

She opens her mouth into a devilish grin and waits eagerly for me to climax. I watch my cum pulse from my cock in short, hard bursts as it coats her tongue.

"You _are_ delicious," she purrs as she re-buttons my jeans. The haze that inhabited my brain slowly lifts as my eager appetite is sated—for now.

"Come back up here," I urge, easing her back onto her feet. I kiss her face everywhere: her lips, her cheeks, her chin, her forehead…even her eyebrows get one peck each.

"Hey, I'll do that more often if I get this kind of gratitude," she chuckles.

"Oh, you might be thinking twice about that, little girl," I growl, my hands roaming down to her ass, where I slip them under her skirt, bunching it up around her waist in the process.

"Now, why would I regret driving you a little crazy? Hmm?" she asks, stroking my cheek with the back of fingers.

"Why, you ask? Because of this," I hiss playfully, spinning her around so that her back is pressed into my chest. "I'm about to…_teach you a lesson_, Brown Eyes."

"A lesson?" she squeaks.

"Mmhmm. Turnabout is fair play, is it not?" I ask back, sliding my arm around her torso, letting my fingers creep along the satiny fabric of her blouse until my hand settles on her breast. I rub and tease her just like she did to me. When she merely whimpers my name in response, I chuckle deeply at her inability to handle what she dishes out.

"Every cell of your body calls out to me, you know that," I tell her. With a gentle tug, I pull her blouse over head and toss it to the floor. The mini-skirt soon follows. I grumble a low '_fuck_' when I finally see what she has on underneath. She's wearing the white corset she described to me at our wedding. It's just as I imagined, but the real thing is phenomenally fucking hotter. It is, indeed, cup-less, and stops just above her pubic bone.

"Look at us, Brown Eyes. You, dressed like that…me, out of control because of it."

Our eyes lock on the mirror that covers the hall closet door. My left hand pulls and flicks her nipple while my right greedily devours the feel of her pussy. It's soft, warm, bare…and wet. _So wet_.

I trail my nose up and down the space between her ear and her jaw, inhaling the scent of her. It's so purely erotic and so _Brown Eyes_, I want to lose myself in it. I growl possessively as I tighten my arms around her. The one around her waist has my hand working hastily between her legs. My other hand releases her breast and tangles itself into her hair, pulling her head to the side to give me free access to that neck of hers.

"Mine," I inform her before sinking my teeth into her sweetly perfect skin.

"Yours," she agrees in a tiny whisper. I hold her steady as I feel her slowly melt against me, her body losing its tension as all her muscles go slack. I look up, my teeth and lips still firmly affixed to her neck. Watching in the mirror, my eyes take in the exquisite image that is my Bella—my wife—climaxing from my touch. All the while, I hold her rigidly against me: hard, masculine predator clutching his soft, perfect prey.

"Edward," she sighs with a hum. Before I know it, a curious hand sneaks into the space between us, turning the tables once again as Brown Eyes gropes my dick through my jeans, quickly re-awakening it.

"Did you say something about 'turnabout'?" she asks with a laugh.

"Yes, now _turnabout_ and let me see you in that corset," I quip as I gently maneuver her so that she's facing me.

"What do you think? I'd blame Alice and Rose, but it was actually my idea to buy it," she confesses, smiling up at me.

"I think that it's probably the hottest thing I've seen," I reply, ogling her breasts liberally as I push a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Thanks. I'll leave it on, then," she says with a wink.

"The heels, too?"

"Your wish, my command."

"Is it now? Why wasn't I able to command my wishes when we first got back to the room?" I question, tilting her chin up with my fingertip so that I can see her pretty face more closely.

"Because you wouldn't be nice," she answers. "Downstairs. You wouldn't play with me…pretend with me."

"I'm playing with you now, aren't I?" I ask with a sly grin as I ease my hand down her side. I hum at the feel of the luscious slope and dip of her hourglass shape restricted in its hard-boned corseted confines.

_She looks fucking edible._

"Yes. Play with me," she moans.

Reason and control disappear with her lascivious words. The seductive contradiction of innocence mixed with allure erases rational thought from my mind like grains of sand swirled away by a strong gust of wind.

"Jesus, I need you. Do you need me like this? Are you insane like I am right now?" I ask, my voice mildly desperate as I clutch her cheek in my palm and stare at her, my face searching hers.

"_Love_," she gasps. "Always. Always…need. This," she says, tapping her fingers against my temple. "This," she gestures again, this time, patting the left side of my chest, above my heart. "And this," she adds, pressing the center of her hand against my once-again straining erection.

I kiss her fiercely, her declaration inciting me to touch her everywhere with my lips and hands. Between gropes, tugs, and moans, we meander our way past the small foyer, until the back of my legs meet the armrest of the large, plush sofa in the middle of our suite's sitting room.

"No more teasing, Edward," Bella hisses. A deep chuckle rises from my chest at the sound of her impatience. My lips are curled around her nipple, clamped down and suckling her eagerly while my hand mimics my mouth on her other breast. I'm ignoring the way she's grinding into my leg, and it's clearly making her as desperate as I am. With a little growl of her own, Brown Eyes balls her fists around my shirt and pushes me off her.

She spins on the ball of her heeled foot and clutches the arm of the sofa, bending herself forward, her naked breasts heaving above the taut corset that makes it impossible for her to bend at any sort of subtle angle. She has no option but to completely curve her body at the waist, her ass and glistening pussy completely exposed. Looking over her shoulder at me, she says nothing—she merely winks and licks her lips.

My jeans and boxers swiftly pool around my ankles, my need ignited once again. Sheer urge trumps the patience needed to remove my clothes properly. I can feel and hear my pulse as it rages loudly in my ears, like a drumbeat that summons my uncontrollable, base instincts. It beats…screams…the same mantra to me, over and over.

_Fuck. Your. Wife._

"Before you make me beg, Edward…_fuck me_," she commands.

I sink into her with one long push, grunting out my satisfaction. Her gasp and subsequent whimper is accompanied by her own hips pushing back into mine. My hands, so big compared to her small, tightly-bound waist, practically wrap completely around her frame as I pivot her hips up and down. Skin slaps against skin. One surface is coiled, rippled sinew; the other is supple, pliant, creamy-white flesh.

"Lost…in you. Lost," I mutter. My jaw is too rigid for me to speak more clearly, and my forehead begins to moisten with sweat.

"I'm with you. Can't be lost…when you're never alone," she pants. Her fingers dig into the sofa's upholstery, and I'm not certain if it's to brace herself against my frantic thrusting, or to help her keep upright as she cums with a long, almost frenzied cry.

"Beautiful…perfect…_mine_," I groan, no longer able to stave off the intense, molten heat that erupts from the pit of my groin and explodes outward. I curl my hands around her shoulders as I plunge into her as far as I can, one last time. My entire body goes rigid as I spill deeply into her in long, throbbing strains.

I manage to use my last shred of energy to turn us both so that the sofa is directly underneath our bodies when gravity wins out and neither of us can support our own weight. The room is silent save for our breathing, both of us crumpled up against one another in a heap.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you notice something funny?"

"Yeah. My pants are still around my ankles. I'm too tired to care."

"Not that. Although, that is actually kinda funny. I mean the way we're laying on the couch."

"Huh…now that you mention it, it is funny."

Our bodies are sandwiched between mounds of cushions and the back of sofa, effectively causing us to press into, and wind around, one another: two bodies, exerting equal weight on each other. We're holding one another, both propping up while anchoring down. In essence: we're smooshing each other.

I fall asleep with an idiotic grin on my face, passing into a pitch-black slumber.

The rest of our honeymoon in Brussels passes with many idle, content moments of lovemaking, sightseeing, and chocolate eating. When planning this trip, I had every intention of spoiling Brown Eyes with the best Belgian sweets made by some of the most world-renowned chocolatiers. I'm happy to say that my intentions are fulfilled, and nothing compares to hand-feeding my completely nude wife chocolate truffles while she lounges in the middle of our king-sized bed.

All too soon, we return stateside, and manage to make our way back to the brownstone—_our_ brownstone. It's the home that we'll now make together. My flash forwards begin to accumulate into the many lovely and beautiful images of Brown Eyes that I'd anticipated on my wedding day.

I set our luggage down in the living room, neither of us having the energy to even contemplate unpacking a single thing. Bella collapses onto the leather couch with a very fatigued sigh before flipping open her laptop and checking her email and other messages.

"Come on, Brown Eyes. It's late. We should sleep if we want to shake off the jet lag," I urge, gently massaging her forearm as I attempt to coax her into bed. I try to kiss her to really distract her, but it doesn't seem to be working.

"Just gimme a sec. I'm updating my twitter status," she replies before glaring at me for reading over her shoulder.

I laugh when I read what she's typed into the text box.

_So tired. Just got back from our honeymoon. TNGUS wants to…*gasp*…sleep with me! He's the married guy who gave me his heart. :o)_

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**DUN DUN…pbbbbbbbt!**

**ANNNNNNND, PLAY ME OFF, KEYBOARD CAT!**

**www . youtube . com / watch?v=J-aiyznGQ**

**OMG, LONGEST A/N EVAR. Like, I have to break this up into sections.**

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**My favorite version of 'Is You Is or Is You Ain't My Baby' will always be the one in Tom & Jerry, but here's Dinah Washington's lush pipes cos she blows my socks right the heck off: **

**www . youtube . com / watch ? v=7kefYrJQ9tc&feature=related**

**Patrick's biblical quotes are from 2 Corinthians 9:8 and Proverbs 28:1.**

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**TRANSLATION OF THE FRENCH USED IN THE BAR SCENE:**

Puis-je vous proposer quelque chose à boire, monsieur?: Can I offer you a drink, sir?

Oui, s'il vous plaît. J'aimerais une bière—une _Kasteel Bruin_. Tout compte fait, mettez-moi une _Kasteel Bruin_ et un doigt de _jenever_.: Yes, please. I'd like a beer—a _Kasteel Bruin_. Actually, make that a _Kasteel Bruin_ and a shot of _jenever_.

Bien sûr, monsieur. J'en déduis que vous avez eu une dure journée si vous avez besoin de ce que nous autres Belges appellons un 'kopstoot'.: Very good, sir. I take it you're having a hard day if you need what we Belgians call a 'headbutt'.

Oui, j'aimerais plutôt être en haut avec ma femme qu'ici, pour être honnête.: Yes, I'd rather be upstairs with my wife, to be honest.

Pardonnez-moi, mais si je peux être honnête, je serais plutôt à la maison avec ma femme, moi aussi. : Excuse me, but if I can be honest, I'd rather be home with my wife, too.

Merci. A votre Santé!: Thanks. Cheers!

Vous sentez comme ça vous donne un coup à la tête, n'est-ce pas?: It does feel like being hit in the head, doesn't it?

Oui, plutôt! Pour votre peine.: Indeed! For your trouble.

Merci, monsieur.: Thank you, sir.

Puis-je vous être utile, madame?: Can I help you, ma'am?

Votre mari sait-il que vous êtes assise dans un bar, à essayer de flirter avec un autre homme?: Does your husband know you're sitting in a bar, trying to flirt with another man?

Je dis 'essayer' parce que c'est probablement l'approche la rebattue que l'on m'ait jamais dite!: I say 'try' because that's probably the worst pick-up line I've ever heard.

Je...uh, je n'ai rien trouvé de mieux à dire.: I…uh, I couldn't think of anything better to say.

Peut-être pourriez-vous m'apprendre quelque chose de mieux?: Maybe you can teach me something better?

En français ou en anglais?: In French or in English?

En français s'il vous plaît. J'aime votre langue, surtout quand elle est française.: In French, please. I love your French tongue.

Ma langue a beaucoup d'usages, Yeux Bruns. Mes mains, aussi.: My tongue has many uses, as do my hands.

Pourquoi êtes-vous ici, habillée de cette façon: Why are you here? Dressed this way?

Putain! Vous ne portez même pas de culotte.: Fuck! You're not wearing any panties. **-That one's my favorite. ;op**

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**Okay, TNGUS: the Cliff's Notes version…skip this, I'm babbling.**

**There you have it. A funny story with some drama but no heartfail. I wrote this primarily to see just how far I could push my banter dialog without making people sick from it. :oP I think I might have failed a little.**

**Also, I wanted to take a seemingly mismatched couple and somehow get them to realize that they're actually more suited for each other than they think. TNGUS and Bella have a lot in common. Both are 'whoops' babies who lose a parent. Both live very busy, yet unfulfilled lives. I wondered what would happen if one of them was more affected by the loss than the other, and if by getting together, they could both move on. **

**So, two babies, born under similar circumstances, but one has a happy childhood and the other doesn't. Fate brings them together, and it all comes full circle. Edward doesn't get baptized in his grandfather's church, but gets married in it instead.**

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**Reviews are awesome. In fact, I'd like to ask that you check out my list of fic favorites listed on my community page and leave some reviews for the lesser-known stories listed there. This fandom is full of wonderfully talented writers, and I'd like to shine a spotlight on some of them. Here's the URL, just remove the spaces:**

**www . fanfiction . net / community / ABGs_FanFic_FunFest / 83416 / 14 / 1 / 1 /**

**That said, I'm so grateful to everyone who stopped by and read this silly love story. If it made you laugh or smile or forget your troubles, then I think it was a success. I'm a comedy writer, and jokes are only funny if someone is there to laugh at them. So, thank you for joining me.**

**Oh, and Happy Slightly Belated Birthday, Bella Swan. You get to do the seksy times with Edward Cullen, and for this, I will always kinda hate you. Just sayin.**

**Epilogue in the works.**

**::MWAH::**


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